


Empty Hearts on Open Oceans

by BleuMorpho



Series: Fantastic Beasts - Selkie AU [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Eventual Romance, M/M, Magical Creatures are a thing but wizards/witches are not, Pirate AU, Selkie AU, Selkies, Slow Build, Some angst and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 59,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleuMorpho/pseuds/BleuMorpho
Summary: Newt Scamander is writing a book on magical creatures and makes a deal with Admiral Seraphina Picquery to accompany one of her best naval officers, Captain Percival Graves, on his voyage along the East Coast of America. However, not everything is as jolly as it seems, and he finds himself struggling to keep his head above water as he battles sea monsters, pirates, mutiny, and a growing attraction to the shy and secretive galley boy, Credence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lindzzz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/gifts), [Zinfandel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/gifts).



> Well, I did it. I officially committed to writing the monstrous undertaking that is the Pirate/Selkie AU developed by @linddzz in [this](http://linddzz.tumblr.com/post/158510814328/look-i-didnt-forget-the-rest-of-the-give-me-an#notes) post. 
> 
> Pray for me, children. It's a doozy.

_6 December, 1926_

_Newton A.F. Scamander_

_Well, little brother,_

_I don't know how much you have heard wherever you are about what's going on in jolly old Europe, but this chap Grindelwald has been making a lot of noise since you have been away. Charismatic blighter, but the Ministry doesn't like him and nor does the International Confederation. He and his rats of the sea have been gallivanting along the North Atlantic for months now, and they cannot make heads or tails of his blundering endeavors._

_Now he has upset a few of the big wheels and he's gone underground. I have been chosen to go away and ferret him out. While I don’t really like the idea of going off to sea, I revel in the chance to be picked, because the whole department wants to be on this case and it's taken some extra hard work to reach this status._

_In any case, I am wishing you well - wherever you are. I know you are traveling by ship, so please be careful on whatever beastly quests you are undertaking! You don’t want to be on the wrong side of pirates._

_Best regards,_

_Theseus_

 

 

It seemed almost pointless to disembark with the mulling crowd of travelers when he was only going to jump on another vessel in a few short hours…or, at least, he would if it all went well and he didn’t set anything on fire. Still, social niceties and human interaction were an unfortunate necessity when dealing with international travel, and Newt Scamander was already walking on thin ice, as it were.

 

Newt’s letter to the New York branch of the US Naval Headquarters requesting passage on a research vessel had been successfully received, and an intimidatingly neutral response had directed him to meet with the Admiral in charge of all voyages regarding the hunt for and recognizance of magical creatures along the East Coast. Theseus had assured him that he need not make an appointment with Admiral Picquery so long as he had a proper letter of recommendation and given plenty of notice of his impending arrival. And so, all he had to do was speak to the Admiral politely, keep his answers short and professional, and he would be granted his request without any fanfare or trouble.

 

Of course, theoretical good fortune almost never made the transition to reality for Newt, and so he was also preparing himself for the worst.

 

Silently, he stared at the rising black coal clouds obscuring the clear skies above the coast of New York. A bulging, battered journal sat heavily inside one of the many pockets of his overcoat, and an old brown leather case charmed by the powers of a kind, ancient fairy sat at his feet. The large passenger ship glided through the churning waters surrounding the towering Statue of Liberty, and men, women, and children of all shapes and sizes crowded the metal rails. Newt chose to remain seated on a nearby deserted bench, rereading his brother’s newest letter and glancing at his fellow passengers with disinterest. The past few years of sailing on the seven seas on a multitude of various transports had dampened his sense of wonderment at seeing the oncoming landscape.

 

A loud horn sounded as the ship began its slow creep into the docks, and sailors in pristine white uniforms began throwing ropes and orders around in a frenzy perfected by years of routine. Among the bustling crowds of immigrants, Newt walked down the gangplank of the ship with his case held tightly in his right hand and his papers grasped tightly in the other within his coat pocket. Long rows of desks were packed with congested lines of people, all bundled in their winter coats and holding their luggage close when they were able.

 

After what seemed like hours of waiting and staring at the steel beams holding the Customs building roof intact, Newt was finally summoned to a desk with a stern-faced official in a dark blue uniform eyeing him with disinterest.

 

“Passport?” He grumbled. Newt handed it over almost instinctively, trying not to fidget or draw attention to his case. “British, huh?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“First trip to New York?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Any magical heritage?” Newt blinked and tried not to look as outraged as he felt. Granted, it was quite common for Magicals to be physically indistinguishable to those with pure human bloodlines, and thus an understandable question for immigrants to be asked. Still, he felt it odd that the official felt the need to ask at all when his passport clearly stated that he was Human.

 

“…my mother is an Animalinguist,” he said softly. The official nodded, either unaware of the effect his words had on Newt or simply unable to care. He closed Newt’s worn passport and gestured to his case.

 

“Anything edible in there?” he asked. Newt took a deep breath to push past the awkward exchange of personal information, absentmindedly placing his hand over his breast pocket and concentrating on keeping his expression calm.

 

“No.”

 

“Livestock?” Unheeding of his best efforts, the magic surrounding the case reacted to Newt’s mental images of all that it contained and the catch flicked open of its own accord. Newt looked down in alarm and hastily closed it, stamping down any thoughts that might trigger it again.

 

“Must get that fixed—ahh, no.” The official’s eyes had grown darker at the case’s rebellion and his frown deepened as he looked at Newt more closely. Newt fought the urge to smile innocently, as he had learned from experience that this would only complicate matters further.

 

“Let me take a look,” the official finally said, placing Newt’s passport to the side and gesturing to the empty desk.

 

Newt begrudgingly placed the case between them, leaning away from the desk and crossing his hands behind the small of his back. Just as the customs official placed his hands on the case to spin it towards him, Newt discreetly rubbed the small black symbol etched permanently into his right wrist with his left thumb. A familiar tingling spread through his fingers, a sign that the magic of the case was heading his call. When the official popped open the catches and peered inside the suitcase, he found only a perfectly folded pair of pajamas and other small knickknacks that Newt had placed there as a disguise.

 

Unable to deny the mundane proof before him, the official glanced at Newt one last time before closing the case and handing the belongings back to their rightful owner.

 

“Welcome to New York.”

 

* * *

 

Magic was never perfect, nor was it always exceptional in nature, so it came as no surprise to Newt that for all of its vast majesty and impressive murals, the New York Branch of the US Naval Headquarters was almost completely devoid of any obvious magical properties. Magical and Human individuals meandered about in equal measure, certainly, but the walls were sturdy brick, the columns hand-painted gold, and a giant gold clock in the center of the atrium ticked away using only the cogs, gears, and bolts that it was built with. A kind young receptionist had led him to a cozy leather loveseat in front of a large oak door to wait, and he passed the time alternating between staring at the framed portraits on the hallway walls and visually tracing the letters reading “Admiral Seraphina Picquery” on the golden plaque beside his head.

 

Men and women in flowing skirts and tasteful suits came and went, until finally a small group of imposing professionals all in black sauntered in Newt’s direction down the expansive hallway. A majestic, blond-haired young woman in a complicated headdress led the pack, her expression angry, yet contained, and her eyes as dark as her pinstripe suit.

 

“—is threatening to send a delegation. They think this is related to Grindelwald’s attacks in Europe,” she said earnestly.

 

“There have been no sightings of Grindelwald or his men in the past few weeks, Admiral. I hesitate to call this piracy without further investigation,” the middle-aged man at her side argued.  The man was dressed in a smart suit and tie, his dark hair slicked back and slightly greying on the sides. Together they made an attractive couple shrouded in an air of tightly coiled confidence, and all trailing members of their group seemed almost pale and meek in comparison.

 

The woman, who was no doubt the very Admiral that Newt had come to see, tilted her head in acknowledgement of her comrades’ point.

 

“Whatever it is, one thing’s clear—it must be stopped. It’s terrorizing the waters along the coast. If ships keep sinking, our trade routes will become all but ghost towns! And then where will we be?” Admiral Picquery glided to a stop in front of her office door, turning her attention from her coworker to Newt so smoothly that he had to blink multiple times to mentally comprehend the transition. “Mr. Scamander, I presume?”

 

“Uh, yes!” He rose from his seat and adjusted the front of his coat, extending a hand for the woman to shake. Her lips curled upwards in the shadow of a smile, politely taking his hand and scanning him up and down with her eyes.

 

“Admiral Picquery. Thank you for waiting.” She nodded in dismissal to the small crowd behind her, opening the door and gesturing for Newt to follow her inside. “Your brother's letter was quite complementary when it came to your expertise, Mr. Scamander. He believes you may be able to assist our crews in their missions across the more dangerous parts of the sea. Is this a correct assumption?”

 

“Well, I will certainly do my best.” Newt waited until the Admiral had begun to lower herself into her ornate office chair before allowing himself to sink into the plush cushions of his own seat. He placed his case on the ground and folded his hands across his lap. “You see, I’ve just completed a year in the field. I’m writing a book about magical creatures—a guide to help people understand why we should be protecting these creatures instead of killing them.”

 

“Despite the dangers they present to our ships and the humans aboard them?” she asked calmly.

 

“Well, most sea creatures are not as dangerous as they first appear. They simply react to what they perceive as threats to their well-being,” Newt clarified.

 

“And our naval vessels are one of these threats?” Her expression remained smooth and neutral, but Newt would have bet every worldly possession that he owned that her tone of voice had dipped dangerously into haughty ridicule. He bit the inside of his cheek and answered her rhetorical question with a challenge of his own.

 

“Admiral, what is the standard procedure on US naval ships for the sighting of a magical sea creature? Depending on size, of course.” The Admiral raised her eyebrow, but answered his question easily and politely enough.

 

“Well, depending on size and classification, the protocol is to load and man the cannons and guns in the event of an attack. The men then wait for the Captain’s signal, and if the creature attacks, the Captain orders an open fire until the attack is neutralized,” she said. Newt nodded, inconspicuously rubbing the symbol on his wrist to keep the case from reacting to his racing thoughts.

 

“And, if it’s determined there is no threat to the ship?”

 

“Then no order is given and everybody moves on.” The Admiral leaned back in her chair, the mask of professional interest cracking slightly in the light of her growing disinterest.

 

“And, if I may ask, what is the average response time of US Captains between the recorded sighting of the sea creature and the order to fire?” Newt waited a beat as the Admiral’s shoulders tensed and her expression morphed to one of confusion. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not a commonly known statistic. But perhaps you know the annual monetary losses attributed to sea creature attacks in terms of ammunition, gunpowder, and repairs to the ships after the sea creatures respond aggressively to open fire?”

 

“…I would have to check the records,” the Admiral admitted cautiously. Newt’s lips twitched up in a smirk that was almost instantly suppressed, and he quickly averted his eyes before delivering his next words.

 

“The English have a protocol that is almost identical to the US. The average response time of an order to fire is approximately 30 minutes after a sea creature of any size is spotted within 16 kilometers, with the average royal vessel traveling at a speed of 15 knots. This means, as I’m sure you can estimate, that the average English Captain orders his men to fire before the ship even reaches the sea creature in question, as it would take approximately 35 minutes for the ship to sail up directly beside the creature they target.” Newt paused and allowed his tirade to sink in before continuing.

 

“The Royal Navy also recorded an annual budget for the past three years for ammunition and weaponry that showed a 32% depletion filed under sea creature attacks, with the remaining majority all relating to the battles in the war. For a procedure that calls for caution and patience, that number seems awfully high. It’s also quite telling, in combination with the reaction times, don’t you think?” Newt met the Admiral’s eyes again, finding them frozen, yet wide and open.

 

“And what does this data have to do with your request, Mr. Scamander?” she asked softly. Newt nodded, resting his elbows up on the arms of his chair. He took a moment to swallow the bitter pill of compromise, reciting the sales pitch that Theseus had given him in their discussions of how to convince the necessary powers to approve his request.

 

“If I am allowed aboard one of your ships, I have every intention of providing your officers with new protocols that should decrease wasted ammunition, gunpowder, repair costs, and all the financial burdens thereof. If we’re lucky, it might even increase the safety of your crews…and thus your subsequent recruitment numbers.”

 

Admiral Picquery stared at him in the following silence, her body language almost relaxed and appraising. She took a moment to glance out the large window across the room from her desk, the docked naval ships swaying in the harsh winds of the rocky coast. Newt sat uncomfortably as he waited for her verdict, rubbing at his wrist in order to give his hands something distracting to do.

 

“It seems I owe you an apology, Mr. Scamander,” she said suddenly. Newt’s eyes snapped to her, only barely keeping the panic in his gut at bay. And he thought he was doing so well!

 

“Sorry?”

 

“I hate making errors in judgement, but I am not so proud as to deny when I am wrong…at least, not in these types of matters.” Admiral Picquery sighed and offered him a small smile, one devoid of haughtiness or deceit. “From your letter and first impressions, I had taken you for an eccentric fool. Eccentric, you may be, but the only fool in this room is me.”

 

She rose from her chair and smoothed down the front of her jacket as Newt mirrored her movements with equal amounts of trepidation and anticipation.

 

“You’ve brought an issue to my attention that I was unaware even existed. If you truly think you can assist us, I have no objections to adding you to the ship’s roster.” She paused and busied herself with straightening the paperwork piled on her desk, allowing Newt a small sense of privacy while he grinned in excitement. “I do have to ask if you have any experience in sailing.”

 

“Ah, yes, but mainly single-handler sailboats,” he admitted. The Admiral nodded and grabbed a sheet of paper from a nearby drawer. Dipping her feathered quill in a large inkwell with a deft hand, she began to fill in a series of boxes with a scrolling script and signed the document with a flick of her wrist.

 

“Captain Percival Graves is on the schedule to set sail later today. His crew handles the recognizance and classifications of all creatures along the coast of the Atlantic, magical and otherwise. He should have plenty of room on his ship for you.” She gently blew on the ink to make it dry, handing the paperwork over to Newt without fanfare. “I’ll make sure he’s expecting you. The ship boards at 1400 this afternoon.”

 

“Thank you, Admiral.” Newt accepted the paper with a grateful nod, bending down and retrieving his case. As he made his way to the door, the Admiral’s ominous voice suddenly echoed across the room.

 

“Oh, and Mr. Scamander?”

 

“Yes?”

  
“Please do your best not to get anyone killed,” she said with a dark smirk. “Sailors are not the most understanding when you endanger their crew.”  


	2. Chapter 2

While his interests and passion laid in a field that others tended to ignore or ridicule, Newt was first and foremost a scientist at his core. He was a keen observer, a fantastic listener when he wanted or needed to be, and the patterns of communication and environmental adaption of every type of species fascinated him on a visceral level. And although he had learned not to say such things aloud, he had always included human beings on the same level that he observed every other creature in existence.

 

As he wandered down the docks with his suitcase in hand, Newt couldn’t help but gaze at the people around him with his scientific curiosity in full effect.

 

Civilians mixed with sailors and crewmen alike in the hustle and bustle of boarding different vessels. Tall masts with white sails and flowing flags with vibrant emblems towered as tall as the steel walls of the more modern ocean liners, and sailors in all manners of uniform directed the bustling masses along the concrete docks to their proper destinations. Bright sunlight glistened off the wings of animated golden birds that flew above their heads, and Newt mentally catalogued a variety of goblins, elves, and other humanoid individuals that passed him by among their Human city dwellers.

 

After glancing at the papers in his hand, an action that his common sense told him that he didn’t really need to perform after the fiftieth time, he finally spotted the scrolling name across the ship’s starboard bow that matched the one he was searching for: the USS MACUSA.

 

Countless ropes, barrels, and other objects were carried on the shoulders and backs of men and women in plain white working shirts. Wooden gangplanks creaked under the weight of a weaving line of bodies as they boarded the main deck, and Newt took a deep breath of trepidation before beginning his attempts to maneuver through the crowds. For a while, his shuffling rhythm caused multiple narrowly avoided collisions and accidents, but he managed to make his way up the nearest gangplank without pushing anyone in the water or setting fire to the surrounding barrels of gunpowder…a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but a victory nonetheless.

 

“Hey, mister!” a voice cried out. Newt stopped in his tracks on the main deck, resulting in angry huffs from the people forced to move around him, and turned to look for the source of the voice. A dark-haired man with a large mustache and wide build made his way over to where Newt was standing, a tattered sack thrown over his shoulder. “You looking for the check in?”

 

“Uh, yes, how did you—?”

 

“You looked as lost as I did when I first came aboard,” the stranger said kindly. His plain crewman’s clothes were worn and ill-fitted, a sign of hard times and a low standing on the ship hierarchy. And yet, when he smiled at Newt’s abashed expression, he seemed more genuine and compassionate than any American Newt had met so far. “Don’t worry, it ain’t all bad once you find your feet. The check-in desk is up there.”

 

Newt followed the man’s finger up to the quarter deck, where a wooden table was being occupied by multiple men in pristine, dark uniforms with varying amounts of silver details.

 

“Ah, thank you, Mister—?”

 

“Kowalski. Jacob.” Jacob reached out with his free hand, but realized Newt’s hands were both occupied and gestured politely instead. “Welcome aboard the MACUSA.”

 

Jacob gave him one more smile before disappearing in the surrounding bustle and leaving Newt to find his own way up the stairs to join the small line to the check-in desk. As he approached the end of the line, he couldn’t help but notice that one man stood out among the rest. Sitting in a simple wooden chair as if it were a throne, flanked on both sides by young, stern-faced sailors, was the man that Admiral Picquery had been conversing with before her meeting with Newt.

 

Captain Percival Graves.

 

His clothing had changed since then to a dark navy dress coat that bordered on black, adorned with an ornate silver high stand collar and two columns of polished buttons down to his waist. Three braided silver cords fell in graceful loops from his left epaulette to a winged phoenix pin on the front chest panel—the undeniable symbol of the Captain. The majority of the men standing around him were younger and more simply clothed in grey, though they tried their best to hold themselves with just as much authority and poise as the Captain did sitting down.

 

“Next,” the taller man at Graves’ side called, and Newt shuffled forward to hand over his papers. The Captain glanced at him with mild curiosity, before reading the notes the Admiral had written next to his name with raised eyebrows.

 

“Mr. Scamander. Admiral Picquery told me I should be expecting you,” Graves murmured.

 

“This is the expert, then?” the tall man asked. His face was unsettling in its impassiveness, but even worse was how cold and judgmental his eyes were as he scanned Newt’s body top to bottom. Newt forced himself to remain silent, still, and aloof, lest he be devoured alive. “The _magizoologist_?”   

 

“Indeed, and we are lucky to have him, Henry. We might actually get some decent work done without wasting bullets.” Graves smoothed down the front of his uniform as he stood from his seat, offering a firm handshake and a small smirk that Newt suspected was supposed to be welcoming. “Thank you for offering your assistance, Mr. Scamander. I hope you’ll find the MACUSA quite accommodating.”

 

“She’s a fine ship, sir.” Newt shook the offered hand firmly, his lips turning up in a nervous smile against his will. Graves nodded his thanks at Newt’s compliment and turned to gesture at his men. The two men flanking the Captain’s side immediately fell back a step and crossed their arms behind their backs in a display of professional submission.

 

“May I introduce Commander Henry Shaw, my First Mate, and his brother Langdon Shaw, the Boatswain in charge of the crew.” Both gentlemen nodded respectfully in Newt’s direction, although he could have sworn he saw a minor twitch of Langdon’s lip at the mention of his relation to the Commander. “You’ll be seeing them around quite frequently.”

 

The Captain paused and shot Newt a sheepish look. “I hope you don’t mind bunking in the cabins? The reassignment was a bit short notice, and—”

 

“Oh, not at all! I’m used to it,” Newt assured him. Silently, Newt recalled all of the times he had been forced to camp near rocky cliffs hoping to catch a glimpse at unsuspecting kelpies or merfolk, and mentally sighed in relief at the promise of at least a bunk in a dry room with four walls. The catch on his case, ever sensitive and misbehaving, snapped open with a loud click. The Captain glanced at the magical luggage with a raised brow, but remained silent in any observations he may have made.

 

“Ah, sorry, it’s temperamental.” Newt quickly closed the latch and tried to keep his thoughts on safer subjects. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

 

“No, not at the moment. We’ll discuss the details of your service another time,” Graves said. “For now, I suggest you go claim a bed. They tend to go fast.”

 

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Newt accepted the strip of paper back from the Captain, thrusting it into his pocket and making his way down the stairs to the bustling mob of people below.

 

Despite its grandeur and elaborate design, the MACUSA was a rather small vessel due to its purpose in research and recognizance. Once Newt allowed himself to observe his surroundings more closely, he found a well-oiled machine that ran on a population of under 150 men and women. Large ropes weaved and crossed the masts and beams in an elaborate pattern, and bodies scurried up, down, and around unlike anything Newt had ever seen before. A chorus of shouts and grunts dripping with various accents echoed among the thudding footsteps and banging of crates, filling Newt’s head with a harsh ringing that would linger for years to come.

 

It was as if the very air were on fire. Both the people on deck and below practically imploded with the tension of checking and double-checking every nook and cranny that their eyes could fall upon. Some members of the crew were bigger, cleaner, with the pale finger calluses of lifelong seamen. Others, Newt began to notice, were rougher around the edges and eyed everyone who passed with a dark, suspicious glare—a slight worry for someone uncomfortable with violence, but Newt supposed it was par for the course on an American ship. 

 

As he made his way slowly across the main deck towards the stairs leading down into the sleeping quarters, he accidentally bumped shoulders with a tall woman carrying a small barrel against her chest.

 

“Oh…so sorry,” he muttered, keeping his eyes down and his posture submissive. The dark-haired woman shot him a nasty look, and then doubled back to stare at him as he began to shuffle away.

 

“Hey! Do you have your assignment?” she asked, her tone official and earnest. Newt frowned and glanced around himself in confusion at the passersby ignoring their exchange. The woman did not seem to be an officer, sporting a plain, yet tasteful outfit of dark grey trousers and a flowing white shirt. She wore no obvious symbol of position and did not offer her name.

 

It should have been easy for Newt to apologize again and go on his merry way, and yet a strange sort of warmth spreading through his legs kept him rooted to the spot.

 

“My assignment?” he asked.

 

“Yes! The one stating you are _allowed_ on this vessel?” The woman sat her barrel aside, dusting off her blouse and standing with her shoulders back and head held high. “Who are you?”

 

The gentle warmth spread upwards from his feet to his chest, keeping him honest and attentive to her despite his desire to do anything of the sort.

 

“…Newt Scamander. And you are?”

 

“What is your business on the MACUSA?”

 

“I’m the new sea creatures researcher hired by Admiral Picquery.” With a surprising amount of necessary force, Newt broke through the strange spell his body had fallen under to straighten his posture. He kept his stance open and attentive, but refused to back down from her tone of superiority. “I’m sorry, are you some sort of investigator? Keeping stowaways off the ship?”

 

The woman hesitated, her aggressive attitude wilting slightly under his explanation and questioning. Just as she was about to answer, however, an approaching figure caught her attention and all of her previous confidence melted away. Her arms fell limply at her sides and her expression morphed into one of guilty mortification.

 

“Goldstein!” Langdon Shaw approached with an aggressive haste, stopping beside Newt and glaring at the woman with unrestrained agitation. “What are you doing?”

 

“Mr. Shaw—” she started, but Langdon ignored her in favor of turning to Newt with a forced smile.

 

“I sincerely apologize, Mr. Scamander. Miss Goldstein here can’t help herself sometimes. I’m sure you know how _nymphs_ can be,” he said with a nervous chuckle. Newt’s eyes widened in realization, and a quick glance at the woman’s body language confirmed that Langdon had spat out an extremely personal magical heritage without even bothering to ask permission.  

 

“You’re a Nereid?” Newt asked, all previous frustration evaporating in favor of scientific excitement. That certainly explained his body’s sudden betrayal, harmless as it was! The voices of sea nymphs were notorious for their alluring magical properties. “From which island do you hail?”

 

“...Cyprus, originally. But my sister and I have settled in New York for most of our lives,” she said, crossing her arms defensively. Newt bit his lip, desperate to part on good terms in the event she could teach him more about her abilities at a later time.

 

“Σε γιγνώσκων χαίρω,” he said, offering her a nod and sincere grin. Just as he had hoped, her reaction was one of surprised delight, and the light that had begun to fade in her eyes suddenly sparked to life again. Langdon, meanwhile, looked between them with confusion before shaking it off and gesturing for the nymph to depart.

 

“Alright, back to work! We’re setting sail soon.”

 

“I suppose I’ll see you around, Miss Goldstein,” Newt said. Tina’s cheeks heated to a lovely pale shade of pink, her lips curving up in a playful smirk.

 

“Tina.”

 

“Tina,” Newt corrected, and purposefully did not look at Langdon’s face as he took his leave. Although he had met Nereids in the past, they were often quite shamelessly flirtatious despite his attempts to keep their discussions professional and unbiased. To meet one who seemed more grounded and focused on her duties was a stunning feat he would not be ungrateful for.

 

He made his way down the stairs to the cramped living quarters that they would all be calling home, asking a passing crew member if there were any open rooms left. He was directed to the last room on the right, and he cautiously braced himself for an uncomfortable introduction to his new bunkmate. The door was slightly ajar when he approached and a deep humming echoed from inside. As the door swayed open with a creak, the source of the cheerful tune paused in his hanging of a faded, black and white portrait of an older woman.

 

“You!” Jacob said, his voice bright with recognition. Newt’s face lit up against his conscious thought.

 

“Hello.” He stepped into the room, glancing at the two simple cots pushed against the walls and spaced not five feet away from one another. “It seems this is the only open bed. I hope you don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all, uh—God, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name!” Jacob reached out again, and this time Newt was able to accept his handshake gladly.

 

“Newt Scamander. I’m assisting Captain Graves with documenting and studying the sea creatures we’ll see on the voyage.” Newt gently placed his suitcase on the bed and tapped the breast pocket of his coat. As Jacob watched, a small, leafy green head began to protrude out of the coat and a faint clicking sound reached their ears.

 

“What on earth?” Jacob breathed.

 

“This,” Newt said, allowing his tiny companion to crawl over his fingers and out into the light, “is Pickett. He’s a Bowtruckle. Say hello, Pickett.”

 

The jubilant expression on Jacob’s face as Pickett clicked and stared at him warmed Newt’s heart, and he silently counted his blessings that he had managed to bunk with one of the rare decent human beings on the planet. The redhead relocated the Bowtruckle to the front of his waistcoat and threw his thick blue overcoat onto the cot. Jacob continued to smile and wiggle his finger at Pickett’s curious little body as he spoke.

 

“So, you’re an Animalinguist? If it’s okay to ask?”

 

“It’s alright. And, actually, I’m not. My mother is, so I understand them and can calm them down better than most people. But I can’t speak to them like she can,” Newt explained. Jacob nodded in understanding before turning back to straighten the picture he had mounted on the wall.

 

“Still, that’s pretty impressive. From what I understand so far, they could really use you on a ship like this.”

 

“You’re new, too, are you?”

 

“Yeah, first time on a boat, actually,” Jacob confessed. With a final sigh, he seemed satisfied with the picture’s placement and sank down onto his own bed across the small room. “Don’t have much choice, though. I’m practically broke, and the bank won’t give me a loan since I ain’t got no collateral. Stayed in the army too long, apparently.”

 

“What, you fought in the war?” Newt asked, cradling Pickett in his hands as he sat across from Jacob to listen to his tale.

 

“Of course I fought in the war, everyone fought in the war—you didn’t fight in the war?”

 

“I worked mostly with dragons, Ukrainian Ironbellies—Eastern Front.” Jacob paused as he took this information in, eventually pursing his bottom lip and nodding as if accepting and impressed by Newt’s contribution. Newt smiled in response.

 

“Anyway, I started working in a canning factory, but y’know, it just—it just crushes the life outta you. I was dying there—everyone’s dying there,” Jacob said. “So, I thought, might as well take my chances on the water. Better than this hellhole, in any case.”

 

“What are you saving up for?”

 

“Oh, I bake. Pastries mostly. My Grandma’s recipes.” Jacob gestured proudly up at the photograph, a nostalgic smile on his face. “I wanna open up my own bakery someday. But can’t do that without any money, so…”

 

“Hmm. Well, I hope you get it someday. It sounds nice,” Newt said softly. Jacob started to grin, when suddenly a loud horn vibrated the thin walls of their cabin and scared poor Pickett into a hasty retreat to Newt’s pocket. The two men glanced out the small window, seeing only the vague outlines of a dusky shore riddled with docks and ships. Silently, they moved as a pair out of the cabin and up the main staircase. The swell of bodies had almost doubled in the few minutes they had spent below deck, with soldiers and crewmates running about and shouting orders in equal measure.

 

The order to set sail had officially been given.

 

While unsure of Jacob’s precise role in the flow of the ship’s maintenance, Newt knew his place and made an effort to stay out of anybody’s way. While he did have some exposure to sea travel and could possibly be able to assist with the less complicated tasks if requested, the magizoologist was acutely aware of his uselessness in this particular endeavor. Sailing the Atlantic was a task only the bravest and the most desperate of human beings took on, and Newt’s bravery only extended to his creatures and the responsibilities thereof.

 

And so he watched with baited breath as the USS MACUSA slowly inched its way from the throngs of people on the docks of New York, carrying him out into the great unknown with only his creatures and his ambitions to comfort him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Σε γιγνώσκων χαίρω = (Se gignōskōn kaírō) Pleased to meet you; Greek.


	3. Chapter 3

 

It was both a blessing and a curse.

 

It was soothing to have the salty air wash away the soot and rotten smells of the city, and to be free of the bustling crowds of humanity and their unnatural inventions. The world was cleaner here, surrounded by the crystal blue waves and white bubbling sea foam. The endless dancing waters with no land in sight crashed against the bow of the vessel, calling out to him in a silent language that only he could understand.

 

The curse was what kept him from answering.

 

Credence gripped the soaking dishcloth tighter than necessary, the scent of lemons and lard filling his nose and making him wince. The preparations for dinner were just reaching their height, with metal pots boiling with broth and the sounds of steel on wooden cutting boards filling the room. Modesty was piling the dishes and polishing the silver, while Chastity assisted their mother with the ingredients. Credence was banished to the side, as always and expected, to clean whatever utensils and cookware they used in the process.

 

The scent of the sea was almost drowned out by the tangy steam from the soups they prepared, but Credence was far too close to ignore it now. It settled deep into his bones, churning through his blood, filling him with a crippling melancholy he would never be able to suppress. How he had missed being on the sea, and yet how hateful it was that it was just beyond his reach.

 

“Miss Barebone,” a deep voice called. Credence’s mechanical washing halted in an instant, his entire body freezing with a sickening desperation.

 

“Captain Graves. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Mary Lou asked, her tone pleasant and kind. If only the Captain knew that her false pleasantries shrouded a deeper contempt that made Credence want to crush the metal spoon in his hand, whether he had the strength to do so or not.

 

“I beg your pardon. I know it’s the dinner rush. But I was wondering if I could borrow Credence for a moment?” Graves asked. The young man in question turned to look at the Captain out of the corner of his eye, forcing his expression blank while his heart twisted in his chest. “I could really use an extra hand.”

 

“Of course, Captain. Whatever you need,” Mary Lou said.

 

Credence grabbed the nearest dry towel and wiped the lingering suds off his hands. Without a second glance to the other members of the Barebone family, he followed the Captain’s shadow out of the galley and up the wooden stairs. Each step took him closer to the open air, but the pull from the Captain’s proximity forced him to resign himself to the barest of glimpses of the waves below. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, some familiar and others foreign, passed them by with only a subtle nod in the Captain’s direction.

 

As they reached the door to the Captain’s quarters, Graves stepped aside and allowed Credence to enter first.

 

“There’s been a new development you need to be wary of,” Graves said, snapping the door closed, crossing the room in brisk strides, and lowering himself into the plush chair behind his desk. Credence remained silent and standing, putting as much distance between himself and the Captain as was socially acceptable. “There’s a new crewman—an expert on magical creatures.”

 

Credence tried not to tremble at the implications, nor at the icy tone with which the Captain spoke of their new guest.

 

“He’ll be working closely with me on some of our rounds. I’m not sure how much he knows about your kind, but I don’t want to take any chances.” Graves paused, folding his hands in front of his lips and staring blankly at the curling parchments scattered on his desk. “He seems harmless enough, but knowledge is power…and even I have to admit that he has more than me.”

 

A cold sense of dread writhed in Credence’s stomach. He had been naive once, and had taken his own will and freedom for granted. He had fallen for the kind words and trust that Graves had lain before him, but had quickly learned the truth in the hardest way his kin could imagine. Percival Graves was a man driven by pride and greed more than anything else, and any being that stood above him in any regard was both a threat and an enemy on principle alone.

 

“…come here,” Graves ordered. Credence kept his head bent and eyes aimed down as he crossed the barrier he had attempted to create, moving around the desk and standing at the Captain’s shoulder. “Kneel.”

 

A rippling tingle of warmth spread like wildfire up Credence’s long legs, forcing them to fold beneath him until he was on both knees beside Graves’ elbow. His body trembled with suppressed emotion as a strong hand reached out and began to stroke the back of his head, calloused fingertips gliding through short, cropped strands and tickling his scalp. Where the gesture had once brought him comfort, had been almost loving and holy in its nature, now it only made Credence feel sick and hollow.

 

It was possession, control, a reminder that he was only a pawn in Graves’ twisted ambitious game.

 

“His name is Newt Scamander. He stands out a bit, so you shouldn’t have any trouble picking him out of the crowd,” the Captain explained. He continued to stare off into a space only he could see, his absentminded stroking slowly inching down Credence’s neck. “You’ll need to interact with him at times, I know, but try to keep your distance if you can. And _do not_ tell him what you really are. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. The gentle fingers wrapped around the back of his neck in a fierce grip, squeezing just enough to be threatening but still dripping with false affection. Despite his desperate attempts to shut it all down, the warmth spread outwards from the skin beneath Graves’ hand and overwhelmed his system with longing and relief. His eyes fell shut and his body went lax almost instantly.

 

“You’re so good for me,” Graves said, his voice suddenly tender. Credence bit his tongue to keep from screaming, the bloody internal battle between fear and ecstasy reaching almost physically painful levels. “…run along, now. Heed my warnings, Credence.”

 

With weary legs and clenching fists, Credence made his way out of the cabin door and back across the ship in a silent trance. The sweating and shouting crewmen that climbed the ratlines and manned the decks either ignored his existence completely or glared at him with disgust. Nobody knew precisely how he was different from the rest of them, but it was as if they could smell the abomination walking among them. Thankfully, they all accepted that the Captain had some special connection to him, and allowed him to travel back down into the bowels of the ship unscathed.

 

No, only Mary Lou had the right to punish him for his unholy nature.

 

He managed to slip by the gathering lines of hungry sailors without saying a word, reaching the entrance to the galley just as Chastity and Modesty began to bring out the plates and bowls to the serving table in the dining area. He joined their small assembly line after a quick rinse to his hands, stacking simple ceramic bowls and grabbing handfuls of spoons. They worked in a silent dance perfected by countless days adrift on the sea, three broken marionettes related only by the suffering they shared under Mary Lou’s cold, piercing gaze.

 

As usual, the matron of the Barebone family was the one to carry out the soup and bread to the table. Only she was allowed to provide, to feed and give charity to the poor souls coming to her for sustenance.

 

They lined up in a perfect row of pale faces, ready to start their mission for the night. Mary Lou tied a pressed white apron around her waist, taking her place in the center behind the largest pot of steaming vegetables and stock. With her shoulders back and a small smile in place, she nodded to Chastity to ring the brass bell signaling the start of the meal.

 

Bodies started flooding through the doorway, boisterous men and women laughing and shouting in a blur of activity that made Credence’s skin itch uncomfortably. One by one, they accepted a bowl and spoon from Chastity, a ladle of soup from Credence or Mary Lou, and a small piece of buttered bread from little Modesty at the end. Murmurs of thanks were rare, with many accepting their due without even looking at those providing it. Credence focused on maintaining a controlled hand as he worked, keeping his eyes down and his ears deaf to the conversations swirling around him.

 

He was actually doing quite well, until an unfamiliar voice with a smooth, lilting accent pierced through his carefully constructed wall of silence.

 

“Oh, that looks scrumptious!”

 

Credence was powerless to stop his head from rising, to match a face to this rich voice that delivered praise and joy so freely. Bursting cascades of color filled his vision—swirls of brown, blue, and white all wrapping around a tall frame and topped with a tangled mess of golden-red hair falling over a freckled face. The man’s smile was slightly crooked, yet soft and pure. Credence found himself grasping the handle of his ladle almost painfully tight, and lost all breath when the man’s gaze found his.

 

Long forgotten memories of the ocean after a summer storm bubbled to the surface as he stared into the warmest human eyes he had ever seen.

 

The world stuttered to a halt for barely a second, two at most, but it was enough for Credence to neglect the tool in his hand and drip a small splash of soup onto the table below. Mary Lou tensed slightly beside him, and it was all that was needed for him to realize his mistake. Fear completely snuffed out the gentle burst of nostalgia in his chest, and the world regained its momentum in an instant.

 

Thankfully, the man before him did not seem to notice the tiny fumble, too focused on receiving his bowl from Chastity and holding it out for Credence to fill. He silently did as he was bid, trying not to let his eyes linger on the stranger’s face again for fear of angering Mary Lou further.

 

“Thank you very much!” the man said, his light English accent washing over Credence’s eardrums like a soothing lullaby.

 

“You’d think you never seen soup before, Mr. Scamander,” the mustached man following close behind chuckled. The rest of the conversation as they passed was drowned out by the sudden static that filled Credence’s head, his body falling back onto numb muscle memory as everything suddenly clicked into perspective.

 

Scamander.

 

Newt Scamander.

 

The man he was supposed to avoid at all costs.

 

Credence felt the truth sink into his mind like broken glass stabbing into his skin. Captain Graves had been right—this magical creatures expert certainly stood out from the crowd, and Credence had been ensnared by his presence before he could even begin to plan to protect himself. It was foolish, pathetically naive, and what hurt the most was just how familiar it all felt.

 

He had fallen too hard and fast for first impressions before. The hope and bliss that had come with Graves’ attentions had been so encompassing and overwhelming, so good and warm that he had never stopped to think about the possibility that he was being played for a fool. The shame that rose to his throat was bitter with dark thoughts, and he quickly made a silent vow to do exactly as he was ordered with as much dedication as he was able to give.

 

He would stay away from this Newt Scamander, who was smiling and chatting with the mustached man and the Goldstein sisters at a table across the room, and he would hate him just as much as all the other humans on this Gods-forsaken boat.

 

“Ah, the Barebones!” Credence allowed his eyes to close as his awareness reawakened, the grating voice of Langdon Shaw breaking the spell of metal exile and leaving him even more agitated than before. “How are you, Miss Mary Lou?”

 

“Always nice to see you, Mister Shaw,” Mary Lou answered, her tone respectful and welcoming. Out of the corner of his eye, Credence felt more than saw Chastity go rigid with tension. The young Boatswain held out a hand for a bowl, which she silently obliged him with more quickly than she had any of the others.

 

“I hope you don’t mind if I grab some to go? Duty calls,” Langdon said. Mary Lou nodded, filling the bowl and keeping her smile intact all the while.

 

“The start of the journey is always the busiest time for you, is it not?” she asked. Langdon chuckled, though his attention was clearly elsewhere when he responded.

 

“Indeed. Very, very busy. As always, your hard work is much appreciated.” He accepted the slice of bread Modesty held out for him, nodding at each of them before turning around and striding out the doorway. Mary Lou turned her attention back to stirring the remaining soup at the bottom of her pot, ignoring the last greasy grin he threw to her eldest daughter as he departed.

 

Credence bit his tongue and made a point of stirring his own pot, reaching down with his free hand and touching the back of Chastity’s wrist in a comforting gesture. She violently yanked it away, though he had to admire how well she hid her discomfort from her expression. He would have been more hurt by her rejection if he had been surprised.

 

They waited a few more minutes in the event of late stragglers and shift changes, before gathering up the pots and unused utensils and moving back into the depths of the galley. Credence took his place at the sink without being told, filling it with soap and water while the girls stacked the clean bowls in the cupboard. The rest of the evening was spent gathering dirty dishes, cleaning the empty tables, and listening to Mary Lou wishing the sailors a good night and God’s blessings. Due to years of practice, Credence was able to do his part both quickly and effectively, and the sun was just beginning to disappear beyond the horizon when he finished drying his last few spoons.

 

“Modesty, take over for your brother,” Mary Lou suddenly said, her tone of voice brooking no arguments. Credence’s movements slowed to a crawl as he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. “Credence.”

 

It was inevitable, he supposed. He had known it would come, sooner or later. Every time he stepped out of line, every instance of imperfection or unholy tendency, and Mary Lou would swoop down to deliver her justice…cleansing his soul with pain and suffering, as she had called it.

 

He followed her into the bare closet that served as his sleeping quarters, separated from the other cabin the Barebones were given and adjacent to the galley. The closet held only a tiny cot that touched each wall, with multiple shelves of cleaning supplies and extra towels scattered up towards the ceiling. Mary Lou held out a steady hand until he obediently removed his belt and placed it into her open palm. He heard her wrap it around the widest part of her hand as he removed his jacket and laid it on the far side of the bed, lowering himself to his knees and presenting his hands to her as if in offering.  

 

“What are you to be punished for?” she asked expectantly.

 

“For spilling the soup. I’m sorry, Ma,” he replied, barely keeping himself from gagging at the term of endearment he was forced to call her.

 

“Your penance will be ten lashes, and you will go to bed without supper,” she said. “Count.”

 

And so the sting of the belt cutting into his skin blossomed while his voice echoed lifelessly off of the wooden walls of his prison. As tears began to blur his vision, Newt Scamander’s carefree smile and tender eyes flashed across his mind. Pools of vibrant green mixed with the gentle sound of rolling waves, and Credence’s heart fractured with every increasing number he wept.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Newt only realized that it was supper time when Jacob pointed out the flocks of people heading down towards the messdeck. The main deck began to clear, the masts wide open and allowing the ship to crawl across the waves, and together the two men followed the drifting crowd to ensure that they would not be left alone, lost, and starving. The thin hallways normally devoid of life were packed full of people in the throes of conversations, some crude and lively and others calm with an edge of melancholy.

 

Newt and Jacob stayed close together, silently bonding over the mutual feeling of disorientation and anxiety. They joined the line slowly seeping into the crowded mess hall full of unmovable tables and benches, which Newt was unsurprised to see mostly filled. As a mouth-watering heat began to infuse the air around him, an old wooden table stacked high with bowls and two large metal pots finally came into view.

 

“Oh, that looks scrumptious!” he said, watching the colorful vegetables bob and swirl in a steaming broth. A young blonde woman silently handed him an empty bowl with a tiny twitch of her corner lip, and he gratefully held it out for the tall young man with hunching shoulders to fill. His stomach practically twisted with desire as he watched the cascade of flavor flow into the depths of his bowl.

 

“Thank you very much!” he said, throwing a wide grin in his server’s direction, although he doubted that his gratitude had been received if the intense expression on the young man’s face was anything to go by.

 

“You’d think you never seen soup before, Mr. Scamander,” Jacob chuckled behind him. Newt accepted a thick slice of bread from the child at the end of the table, his grin still in place as he waited for Jacob to get his own supper.

 

“I haven’t eaten since yesterday,” Newt confessed. “I can usually go a long time without food, but seasickness hits me harder on an empty stomach. Where do you want to sit?”

 

Their food in hand, the two men began to wander along the far wall in search of empty seats to claim. The vast majority of the crew was made up by those who had been sailing on the MACUSA together for years, and so the room had already fallen into a preexisting seating arrangement that left little room for newcomers. Newt scanned the rows of bent heads, his eyes eventually falling onto one of the only other familiar faces on the ship.

 

Tina Goldstein sat at one of the farthest tables from the mess entrance, silently picking at her bread and staring blankly into the deep end of her soup. The only other person at her table was a lovely young woman with tight blonde curls that fell to her chin. The blonde woman seemed to be chatting in a continuous, cheerful stream while Tina silently nodded along. On the one hand, Newt was hesitant to join the dark-haired Nereid because he did not want to risk a repeat of their earlier meeting. However, open seats were clearly limited, and at least it would not require the crippling hassle of introducing himself to an entire group of suspicious strangers.

 

“There?” Newt asked Jacob softly. The mustached baker took one look at the woman in Tina’s company and nodded excitedly in agreement.

 

“Yes, please,” he said. Newt could not help but roll his eyes at his bunkmate’s primal enthusiasm, shuffling over to the edge of the table and awkwardly clearing his throat.

 

“Pardon me, ladies, I was wondering if you would mind if we—”

 

“Oh, you’re the man Teenie yelled at earlier!” the blonde woman said with a smile. Now that Newt could see her face more clearly, it was shockingly obvious that she, too, was a Nereid. Her skin was smooth and pale like a porcelain doll, her lashes fluttering over wide blue eyes that held more wisdom and secrets than her appearance would first imply. Newt forcibly beat down his rising scientific admiration, and averted his eyes with a nervous chuckle.

 

“That—that would be me, yes.”

 

“Queenie!” Tina scolded softly, glancing at Newt with what looked like panic before returning her eyes to her bowl.

 

“No need to fret, Teen, he’s already forgiven you for it.” Queenie giggled and tapped the empty space beside her with a smile. “Please, join us.”

 

“Thank you,” Newt said, taking her offered spot so that Jacob could sit across from her and have an easier time making conversation. “I’m Newt Scamander. I’m a magizoologist assisting Captain Graves. And this is Jacob Kowalski.”

 

Jacob gently sat his bowl onto the table, sliding in beside Tina with his eyes glued to Queenie’s blushing face. He offered her a tiny wave of greeting, before grabbing an empty cup and filling it to the brim with water from the pitcher at the center of the table. Tina cleared her throat, but kept whatever comments she was going to make to herself as Queenie leaned forward to speak.

 

“Oh, you’re one of the new mechanics? That must be really hard work!” she said, shocking both of the men into confused stupors. As Newt watched, her eyes took on a subtle glazed look as her attention went in and out of focus. Tina glanced up, her expression both bemused and oddly resigned.

 

“Aw, that’s rough. He didn’t get the money he wanted for his bakery, and had to work here instead,” Queenie explained to Tina before turning back to Jacob with a delighted smile. “You bake, honey? I love to cook!”

 

“Gentlemen, this is my sister, Queenie,” Tina said with a knowing rasp in her tone. Jacob looked back and forth between the two women as if trying to see the resemblance, while the clues all clicked into place inside Newt’s head at the same exact moment.

 

“You’re a Legilimens?” he asked, his voice breathless with scientific admiration. Queenie took it in stride, nodding and never once dropping her cheerful expression.

 

“Uh-huh, yeah. But I always have trouble with your kind. Brits. It’s the accent,” she replied. Jacob, who had taken a bit longer to recover from his shock, blinked back into awareness with a worried flinch.

 

“You know how to read minds?” he asked. Queenie giggled again, her voice light and playful.

 

“Aw, don’t worry, honey. Most guys think what you was thinking, first time they see me.” She turned to Newt, who was trying hard not to chuckle at her candor. “Never met someone who’s seen that many Nereids before, though. You know a lot about our kind.”

 

“Yes, well, when a certain group of people have to get you out of messy situations more than a few times…” he trailed off sheepishly, catching Tina’s poor attempt to hide a smirk behind her cup out of his peripheral vision. Queenie suddenly burst into a fit of high-pitched giggling, covering her mouth to stifle the sound as she read the multiple memories of rescue and recovery that Newt was helplessly trying not to think about. The magizoologist turned his attention to filling his stomach with soup while Jacob jumped onto the lull in their conversation to draw Queenie’s attention back to himself.

 

“I’m sorry, but if it’s not too much to ask, I’ve never met a Nereid before. I don’t know the first thing about them.”

 

“There’s not much to tell, really” Tina interrupted, soaking up the last few puddles of her soup with the crusts of her bread. “Nereids assist and protect sailors in their travels. We navigate, do odd jobs—”

 

“We sing, we dance, keep the crew happy—that sort of thing,” Queenie added. “I mostly serve drinks and sing on Music Nights…Tina’s the career girl.”

 

Tina smiled at the complimentary tone of her sister’s voice, while Jacob absentmindedly brought his spoon to his mouth without breaking eye contact with the blonde nymph. Queenie continued to talk, filling the table with a soft one-sided chat in response to Jacob’s thoughts while they all finished their supper. Tina and Newt remained silent throughout the conversation, shifting awkwardly as their respective bench partners gazed longingly into one another’s eyes.

 

“Nah. We’re orphans. Ma and Pa died of Squid Pox when we were kids…aw, you’re sweet. But we got each other—”

 

Suddenly, Queenie’s entire behavior shifted in an instant. Her bubbly words cut off without any warning, her expression grew hard and shockingly angry, and her previously relaxed posture stiffened to an almost unnatural degree. Jacob and Tina flinched in alarm, but Queenie seemed blind to their presence as her eyes slid to the entrance of the dining room. The others followed her gaze to where Langdon Shaw had just waltzed in, his hands in his pockets and a wide smirk on his face.

 

Tina scoffed in disgust.

 

“Of course,” she said under her breath. Newt looked at her with a questioning raise of his eyebrow. “He’s a scoundrel. We’ve only been on the MACUSA for two years, and almost every other suppertime he comes down here to try and… _woo_ the Barebone girl.”

 

“You mean like—?” Jacob asked, his mustache twisting up in horror. Tina nodded, reaching out and laying a comforting hand on her sister’s clenched fist. Queenie took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving the man accepting his supper and making small talk with the cook.

 

“He doesn’t even need to eat what they serve here. He has enough authority that he could get his own meals served with the other officers,” Tina continued. She wisely kept her voice low to prevent other tables from overhearing. “He keeps declining. Claims he’s trying to be respectful of his crewmates by being ‘one of them’. Then he snatches whatever his brother and father don’t eat after their meetings.”

 

Normally, Newt would take any rumor spread by human (and, by extension, Nereid) mouths with more than a grain of salt. Humans were some of the only creatures on the planet capable of lying simply because they wanted to, after all. However, the haunted, bloodthirsty look in Queenie’s eyes told him more than enough about Langdon’s true nature, and so he had no doubt that everything that Tina said was the absolute truth.

 

They stared at the young Boatswain as he turned and sauntered out of the room, leaving their secret discomfort in his wake. Jacob, who had gone worryingly pale the longer Tina spoke, swallowed and turned back to Queenie.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. The gentle tone of sympathy snapped the blonde nymph out of her dark trance, and her eyes took on a glistening sheen when they met Jacob’s once more. “Is it like that— you know, all the time?”

 

“…I have a range. I can’t hear anything beyond the other side of this room…but, no, I can’t help it,” she whispered sadly. Tina continued to hold onto her sister’s hand, while Newt fidgeted awkwardly beside the wilting beauty. “It’s even worse when it’s…People are easiest to read when they’re hurting. Or doing the hurting.”

 

Silence fell over the table for a few tense moments, until Queenie seemingly forced herself out of the dark hole of sadness she had fallen into and gave all of them a comforting smile.

 

“It’s alright. It’ll all work out, in the end,” she said gently. Jacob’s expression was soft in its admiration, and the pair stared at one another for a moment longer before Newt cleared his throat and lifted his empty bowl.

 

“Well, this has been wonderful, but we have a busy day tomorrow. I think we could all do with an early night,” he said. Tina also gathered her used dishes and stood from her seat in silent encouragement.

 

“Come on, Queenie, let’s head back.”

 

The four of them joined the dispersing groups of sailors returning their used bowls and shuffling out of the door. Selected members of the crew returned above deck to keep the ship running smoothly throughout the night, while Newt, Jacob, and the two Nereids headed wearily to the rows of plain wooden doors of the sleeping cabins. The sisters stopped at one of the doors closest to the stairs leading up to the main deck, and Tina unlocked the door with a small key that appeared seemingly out of thin air.

 

“It was nice to meet you both,” Queenie said with a sweet smile. 

 

“Thanks,” Jacob said, watching her blonde curls bounce and her pink dress flutter as she bounced passed her sister and into the room. Newt saw Tina roll her eyes again before closing the door behind her. “Very much.”

 

Without responding, or voicing any thoughts that he might have had about the whole situation, Newt grabbed Jacob by the shoulder and steered him in the direction of their own room at the end of the hall. The baker had a wide grin on his face for the rest of the night, which Newt tried to ignore as they both got ready for bed and tucked themselves beneath the thin sheets of their tiny cots. Jacob’s sack was kicked into the far corner of the room underneath his cot, while Newt’s case sat upright between the mattress and the wall.

 

“Night, Mr. Scamander,” Jacob murmured, rolling onto his back and blinking lazily at the small light that peeked through their tiny window on the side of the ship. Newt curled into a tight ball and kept his eyes on the blank wall beside his head.

 

“Goodnight, Mr. Kowalski.”

 

The gentle roar of the crashing waves filled the room and dampened Jacob’s even breathing, the violet light from the fading sunset turning silver as the stars awoke from their daily slumber. Newt stayed alert and listening, waiting until Jacob’s breathing gave way to a deeper snoring before untangling himself from his nest. He kept his movements slow and silent, grabbing his case and sitting it flat on the floor.

 

He took a deep breath, allowing his mind to clear and for the world of his creation to fill his entire being. The magic of the case responded almost desperately, sending warm tingles of magic up his arms and deep into his heart. He opened the lid of the case slowly, his eyes squinting in the soft golden light that emerged.

 

Jacob slept on, oblivious and dreaming, as Newt stood and walked into the depths of the suitcase until he was completely out of sight.

 


	5. Chapter 5

A few days went by with little activity and relatively calm waters.

 

The sun was a fickle mistress, often hiding behind thick clouds and hoarding her warmth for herself. Other days, she spoiled them with an abundance of heat and light that glistened off the rippling glass waves of the ocean below. The birds soared along the wind, flashes of white against the gray and blue as they tumbled against the ever-changing gales. The air was thick with salt, crusting in their hair and itching on their skin as the sailors aboard the MACUSA went about their daily tasks.

 

Newt mostly kept to himself when he could, keeping a keen eye out for any sea creatures that might arise from the depths beneath them.

 

He adored all creatures regardless of their origins or environment, of course, but the ocean had a special place in his heart. He understood and respected its beauty, as well as its dangers. He was fascinated by the way it swallowed the light in the distant west, but let it arise anew in the east—the way it was always moving, never calmed, and never the same for a single moment.

 

As the days began to drag with no new discoveries to distract him, Newt slowly made a name for himself as the quiet, yet eccentric assistant of any crew member in need of an extra hand. He would often visit Jacob during his rounds, helping to carry cargo and tools from the hold up to the main deck when he was able. Other times, he kept busy by climbing the masts and ratlines, surprising the more experienced sailors with his agility and propensity to vault and swing from one point to another. Only at night, as his roommate slept, would he venture down inside his case to the secret world of magical creatures he had created.

 

At least, it _was_ a secret, until his Niffler got restless and rebellious.

 

Again.

 

Not even a week into the trip, and Newt had forgotten just how much the Niffler enjoyed making his life a living game of cat-and-mouse. It had been another calm morning with no storm clouds in sight, and the crew was busy keeping every rope and crate all tidy and accounted for. Newt was admiring the view of a nearby island through his pair of Omnioculars on the port side of the ship, when a horrifyingly familiar scratching reached his ears.

 

‘ _Oh, **no**...It’s my imagination, it has to be! There’s no way_ —’ he told himself, only for the scratching to be joined by a curious sniff that was all-too identifiable. ‘ _Damn it all!_ ’

 

He lowered the Omnioculars and followed the direction of the scratching with his eyes, searching for black fur and nimble paws. Just as he was beginning to panic, he saw a scurrying little ball of black fluff weaving in and out of stacked crates and piled nets, searching for anything shiny that it could grab for its hoard. Newt tucked the brass instrument in his hands back into his shirt, jolting forward and pursuing the Niffler across the deck.

 

The few crew members that shuffled about gave him a mix of confused, worried, and dirty looks as he kept his eyes on the ground and ducked around any obstacles in his way. The Niffler was quick and limber, hopping to and fro across the ship while wisely keeping to the shadows. Thankfully, the MACUSA was not a ship dripping in gold and shiny decor, and so the Niffler mostly wandered with growing dissatisfaction and empty paws.

 

As the fluffy creature came to a halt beneath a wooden bench near the quarter deck, Newt saw his chance and dove forward with his hands outstretched—only to miss by a small margin and send the Niffler scuttling out of his reach. He continued his pursuit with an aggravated growl, passing a suspicious-looking Tina as he went. The Niffler headed back towards the mainmast, catching sight of the glittering brass details on the resting guns and cannons pushed off to the side.

 

Just as it was about to leap and grab, Newt finally caught up to it and snatched it right out of the air around its belly.

 

“No!” he growled, holding onto the squirming Niffler with all his might and holding it against his chest. “No! For the last time, you pilfering pest—paws off what doesn’t belong to you!”

 

Newt held the Niffler tightly in his arms, glancing around the main deck for any signs that he had been watched and caught with the magical creature that was most certainly not allowed on board. While he had gotten a few glances during his chase, he was relieved to find that most of the crew members had quite happily ignored him after he had passed them by. He sighed and made to sneak the Niffler back down into his case when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder from behind.

 

Without even being given time to yelp or gasp, he was roughly turned around and forced to stand face-to-face with an irritated Tina Goldstein.

 

“Mr. Scamander,” she said, “what is that?”

 

“What—what is what?” he asked nervously. The Niffler, sensing its owner’s tension and fear, stopped attempting to escape and stared up at him with a curious snort.

 

Tina gave Newt a disappointed look, glaring down at the sniffling creature now burrowing into his chest.

 

“Oh, this! This is just my Niffler!” he said, trying not to shuffle nervously under her intense gaze. As his eyes flittered over her face, he noticed a small smudge of mustard on her top lip that was clearly left over from lunch. “Er, you’ve got something on your—”

 

Tina flinched away from his pointing finger and looked back and forth between Newt and the Niffler in disbelief.

 

“You brought a magical creature on board? And you let it loose?!” she cried softly. He sighed and shook his head.

 

“I didn’t mean to—he’s incorrigible, you see, anything shiny, he’s all over the place—”

 

“You didn’t _mean_ to?” she asked.

 

“No.” Tina glanced down at the Niffler again, who stared back up at her without flinching. Newt couldn’t help but feel a little proud at how Tina’s expression softened the longer she stared into the Niffler’s wide, pleading eyes. Still, even the unfathomable cuteness of the Niffler was not enough to break Tina’s determination, and she released an irritated sigh before grabbing Newt’s arm. Yanking him roughly behind her, they moved together towards the Captain’s quarters.

 

“The Captain needs to be told,” she said. Newt swallowed nervously and rubbed at the Niffler’s fur in an absentminded gesture of comfort as it struggled to escape once more.

 

“Miss Goldstein—”

 

“Don’t even try. You brought this on yourself,” she said. Keeping a firm grip on Newt’s arm, she knocked three times on the door leading into Graves’ office. Deep, hushed voices that had been vibrating through the door suddenly cut off, and each resulting footstep that approached was like a direct kick to Newt’s gut. The door creaked open to reveal a very somber, and rather annoyed, Commander Henry Shaw.

 

Beside him, Newt felt Tina tense as the Commander’s face fell impossibly further.

 

“We made your position here quite clear, Miss Goldstein,” Commander Shaw said. He glanced at Newt curiously for only a moment before returning his glare to Tina.

 

“Yes, Commander, but I—” she started, cut off without mercy by the Commander’s harsh whisper.

 

“You no longer hold any office on this ship.”

 

As Tina slowly withered under her superior’s negative attentions, the pieces of a much larger puzzle began to click together in Newt’s mind. Nereids employed on official naval vessels were often given positions of power due to their magical influence and good fortune for any force they sailed under. Most Nereids were treated with respect, despite any prejudices the crew may have secretly held, and in return they often agreed to travel without seeking any financial compensation.  

 

But Tina had been demoted by the Captain, and harshly so.

 

“Yes, Commander, but—” she pleaded, her voice soft with humiliation.

 

The Commander made to slam the door in Tina’s face, but was stopped by a pointedly cleared throat behind him. Commander Shaw immediately stepped away, holding the door open for the Captain as he stepped forward to greet his two visiting crew members. While clearly not entirely pleased to see them, his eyes held much more sympathy for Tina than she had gotten thus far.

 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain Graves, but there’s been a minor incident,” Tina said, practically throwing her words into the Captain’s face in her eagerness to be heard. “Mr. Scamander has a crazy creature on board and it got out and caused mayhem on the main deck.”

 

Newt winced at the bitter manner in which the nymph referred to his creature, but nonetheless held the Niffler up underneath its thick, furry arms for the men to see. Captain Graves and his First Mate each raised an eyebrow as they stared in confusion at the sniffling creature, who was immediately transfixed by the shining buttons and silver details on their uniforms. Newt tightened his grip around the Niffler’s stomach as it began to wiggle and grunt in earnest.

 

“What the hell is that?” Commander Shaw wondered aloud. Newt swallowed the nervous lump in his throat.

 

“A Niffler. A burrowing creature from Britain.”

 

“…is it dangerous?” Graves asked. Newt breathed a silent sigh of relief that the Captain’s expression was more curious than angry.

 

“No, sir!” Newt denied vehemently, although he could admit that it was unwise for anyone to keep a Niffler domestically due to their destructive tendencies.

 

“Any magical abilities?”

 

“Only that it can escape from me easier than should be allowed,” Newt grumbled, trying to keep the Niffler as far away from the Captain’s buttons as he could without being too obvious about it. 

 

“…and, are there any _other_ creatures you would like to inform me about, Mr. Scamander?” Graves asked, his dark eyes attempting to pierce through Newt’s defenses with an almost unearthly resolve. He forced himself to maintain the eye contact while clutching the Niffler and gently rubbing the mark on his wrist behind its back. As the magic began to spread its comforting warmth, he looked down at the Niffler’s head with a forced expression of guilt and remorse.

 

“I do have some Annelid Glowworms, actually. I give them to the Niffler as a treat, every now and then,” he confessed softly. Graves’ expression remained intimidatingly blank before his lips curled up into a smirk.

 

“Make sure the little guy stays out of trouble, Mr. Scamander,” he said kindly. “Sailing on the Atlantic is hard enough as it is. We can’t afford too many distractions.” 

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

Graves gave Tina a parting look tinged with equal amounts of amusement and exasperation, turning away from the door without another word. Newt allowed himself to relax slightly, but kept his features as emotionless as he was able when the Commander glanced at the Niffler a second time. After a pause, the man rolled his eyes and scoffed before stepping back to follow the Captain inside. Tina made to escort Newt away, utterly defeated, when she was stopped in her tracks by the Commander’s harsh tone.

 

“Hey, Goldstein.” When Tina turned to look at him, he pointed at his upper lip with a twisted smirk. “Nice mustard.”

 

Tina’s face grew pink and horrified, flinching back when the door was roughly slammed shut. Her grip on Newt’s arm grew slack as she reached up to wipe the mustard away with her free hand. Newt winced before shifting the Niffler’s position in his arms, reaching into one of his many pockets, and silently offering a clean handkerchief for her to use. 

 

Despite the simmering frustration with her at the ruthless manner in which she had dragged him to the Captain, he could not help but feel a painful sympathy for her as well. Nereids were genetically inclined to follow the laws of the ship and act in the circumstances that threatened the peace and well-being of the crews they assisted. Even if she hadn’t been the strong-willed woman she very clearly was, Newt doubted that the discovery of any of his creatures would have simply been brushed off without any consequence.

 

“Thanks,” she whispered, accepting the white handkerchief with downcast eyes and slumped shoulders. Newt nodded and gestured to the Niffler, who had curled up into a woeful ball after the silver buttons it so craved had disappeared behind the door and beyond its reach.

 

“I’ll take him back to my room. Make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble,” Newt promised. Tina looked at him with eyes that both doubted his sincerity and thanked him for not commenting on her miserable state. She nodded in agreement, folding up the handkerchief and caressing it with her fingers.

 

“I’ll wash this for you, and give it back at dinner,” she said. Her voice was so deep, so determined to keep as much of her remaining dignity as she possibly could, that Newt could not bring himself to argue.

 

He hesitated for only a moment before turning away and striding purposefully across the deck with the Niffler cradled gently in his arms like a newborn babe. Tina let him go, silently dismissing herself to perform more fruitful tasks on the ship. Newt sighed and kept his eyes on the ground, traveling along the shadows and the sides of the staircase when he was able. While he doubted that any of the other creatures could manage to escape from the case, he debated whether he could sneak a strong crate to his room and position it on top of the case without raising any alarms or questions.

 

‘ _…doubtful_.’

 

As he turned the corner leading to the rows of closed cabin doors, a shifting shadow out of the corner of his eye suddenly approached. His shuffling steps faltered to a stop, and he kept the Niffler held close as he turned to face the crew member hovering like a silent ghost a few feet away from his elbow. He had expected a burly, boorish mechanic to be glaring at him menacingly, for perhaps no other reason than he was larger than Newt and wanted to prove as such.

 

Instead, his eyes fell upon the pale young man that worked in the galley, who stared in unconcealed, wide-eyed wonder at the sniffling creature in his arms.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt would be surprisingly awesome at Parkour. Fight me.


	6. Chapter 6

It was rare that Credence was allowed to roam aimlessly around the ship. Most often, Mary Lou kept him busy and locked away from the rest of the crew unless the Captain specifically asked for his presence at the helm or in his office. There were rare days, however, that the ship sailed undeterred, the crew finished their work ahead of schedule, and the kitchens became empty and silent. On those days, Mary Lou sent him on numerous errands, mostly to ensure that she didn’t have to look at him for any longer than necessary.

 

Such was such an errand that led him down the hall from the galley and plopped him right in front of the very man he had been so careful to avoid.

 

Credence raised his eyes as hurried footsteps thudded down the stairway leading to the lower deck. The halls were devoid of sailors, most of them mulling about the cool air of the hold or up in the masts during such fine weather, and so it was with great panic that Credence watched as Newt Scamander came into view. There was nowhere for him to hide, no excuse for him not to pass him by, and his only saving grace was the high probability that the man would ignore Credence’s entire existence as all the others normally did.

 

Credence slunk to the edge of the hall and forced himself to be still, keeping his eyes glued to the ground as the British man turned toward the cabins. Then, just as Credence began to think that he was safe, a soft voice floated upon the warm, salty air to his ears—a magical voice that sank deep into his brain and sent a giddy shiver down his spine without his consent.

 

‘ _Back to the burrow. Lots of shinies._ ’

 

The voice was light and gravelly, caressing Credence’s wounded soul like a long lost memory suddenly bursting back to life. His body snapped up to its full height, eyes wide and searching for the host of the voice as a starving man searches for sustenance. The lingering fear of disobeying Captain Graves’ orders became buried under the internal pull towards the fidgeting man now frozen in the shadows near the staircase. Credence approached cautiously, and the voice whispered in his ear once again.

 

‘ _Stop? Why did Mummy stop?_ ’

 

Mister Scamander turned around to face him, but Credence’s attention was stolen by the small creature curled up in a sniffling ball within the crooks of his elbows. The creature was covered in sleek black fur, and two black beady eyes blinked up at him over a large orange bill. As the creature sniffed the air and tilted its head, the small voice reached out to him undetected by the only other living being in the room.

 

‘ _Friend? Sea friend? Hello!_ ’

 

“Oh, uh—” Credence snapped out of his trance with a horrified gasp, flinching back and curling in on himself in the same instant. Mister Scamander winced in response, holding out a steady hand in a placating manner. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

Credence refused to respond, although inside he was screaming in horror and self-loathing. He had specifically sworn to stay away from this man at all costs! He was completely and utterly useless, unable to follow even the simplest orders from the Captain despite all of his best efforts!

 

His shoulders slumped and his hands curled into fists, but after only a tense moment, his eyes traveled back up to linger on the sniffling creature that was calling to him in rapid, excited tones.

 

‘ _Sea friend! Sea friend!_ ’

 

“…hello,” he whispered to the creature. A loud, high-pitched squeak was his reward, and Credence could not help but stare as Mister Scamander’s face transformed from a worried grimace to a curious smile. The British man looked back and forth between Credence and the creature, which was now fighting his grip in an attempt to get closer to the cowering galley boy.

 

“He likes you!” he said, his voice soft and warm with wonder. Credence swallowed and quickly scanned his surroundings for any sign of Mary Lou or the Captain’s entourage before responding.

 

“What _is_ he…sir?” Mister Scamander’s grin grew and held his charge up proudly.

 

“This is my Niffler. Slippery little bugger got out of my room,” he chuckled as the Niffler rubbed its bill against his chest.

 

‘ _Yes! Good chase! Fun chase!_ ’ the Niffler’s disembodied voice squeaked. ‘ _Mummy caught me!_ ’

 

“Would you like to pet him? He’s perfectly harmless,” Mister Scamander promised. Alarm bells began to ring in Credence’s head in earnest, warning him that any contact with this man would be violating the vow he made to Captain Graves. Just as he was about to politely refuse, however, the Niffler grew surprisingly agitated in his excitement, reaching out for Credence with tiny paws.

 

‘ _Pets! Sea friend pets! Look for shinies!_ ’

 

Mister Scamander struggled to keep a tight hold on the Niffler, but the fluffy creature proved too crafty for its owner to contain. It slipped from the man’s fingers and flew across the small space between them to land with a muffled thump directly on Credence’s chest. The young man’s arms came up to catch the purring creature mostly out of reflex, and he cradled it gently as Mister Scamander began to gesture and fidget in alarm.

 

“I am so sorry! He never does that! No need to panic!” he cried, holding both hands out as if calming an oncoming storm. Credence marveled at just how animated this stranger could become in such a small amount of time, despite claiming that the Niffler was harmless not a minute before. The Niffler burrowed into the crook of his armpit, rubbing his fur all over Credence’s jacket and sniffing the air surrounding them.

 

‘ _Sea friend!_ ’

 

It was only after he started to stroke the Niffler’s fur and scratch beneath his bill that Credence noticed the edges of his lips beginning to ache. To his shock, he realized that he had been smiling and chuckling at this strange creature’s antics almost continuously since they had first spoken to one another. The cold, somber truth creeped into his bones—it had been ages since he had smiled, an eternity since he had found something amusing, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt even the slightest hint of happiness at anything in his life. Melancholy had become his entire world, shaping every action and every thought that made up his daily reality.

 

Unaware of his silent, inner turmoil, the Niffler burrowed deeper and deeper into his chest, until it managed to break through the buttons on his jacket and crawl up the fabric of his shirt.

 

‘ _Shinies!_ ’

 

“Absolutely not!” Mister Scamander suddenly cried, rushing forward and shoving his hands into Credence’s pockets with seemingly no reaction to his victim’s startled yelp. The Niffler attempted to scramble out of the British man’s reach, but was caught by the scruff and yanked out into the open air.

 

‘ _Shinies, Mummy! Let me burrow!_ ’ the Niffler chittered angrily, its tiny paws flailing and slashing at the man’s sleeve.

 

“Don’t play that! You leave him be!” Mister Scamander groused, throwing Credence a sheepish grimace and lightly touching his shoulder. “Awfully sorry about that. He likes to burrow for treasure.”

 

“Uh…” Credence smoothed down the front of his clothing with shaking hands while silently attempting to fight the rising heat that was spreading up his neck and to his cheeks at an alarming rate. Despite the panic that had risen at being handled so roughly by a stranger, a small voice at the back of his mind whispered how the foreigner’s touch was so strikingly different from any that had come before it.

 

Mary Lou’s touch was fire, red like the blood that dripped down his skin and scorching his body with agony.

 

Captain Graves’ hands were like ice, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and bringing only a chill and dying hope.

 

But this vibrant man, so full of color and energy, was like coming up for fresh air. Even without meaning to be, he was open and gentle in a way that Credence had no longer believed possible. His hand was a comforting pressure on his shoulder, not too firm to be controlling or a punishment, but simply an anchor for him to cling to. Where most would shun Credence without reason, would glare at him with dead eyes that spurned his very existence, Mister Scamander smiled at him as though he were worth even a single moment of his time.

 

And that terrified Credence beyond belief.

 

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” he murmured, forcing his eyes to linger on the Niffler in a futile attempt to hide from the inquisitive stare of the man before him. “He’s cute.”

 

“Can’t argue with you there. And he knows it, too!” Mister Scamander released the Niffler’s scruff and cradled it once more, sighing and throwing Credence another smile as he removed his hand. The young man kept his face as blank as possible, even while the voice inside cried out in grief at the loss of contact. “…so…you work in the galley, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Credence said.

 

“Oh, no need to be so formal! I’m Newt. Newt Scamander.” Credence had a short spasm of anxiety at the thought of shaking the man’s hand, a definite violation of Captain Graves’ orders he could not reason away, but was instantly relieved when it became clear that the other man's hands were far too full of wriggling fluff. “What’s your name?”

 

“…Credence.”

 

And it was now, wasn’t it? It had been for five years, and it would be for as long as Graves kept him captive.

 

Credence. Belief. Truth.

 

And it was all a lie.

 

“Nice to meet you, Credence,” Mister Scamander said. And despite his hesitance, despite the little voice inside warning him to be wary of first impressions so often misleading, Credence could not help but feel as though the man before him truly meant it. As the conversation withered into an awkward silence, the British man coughed and lifted the Niffler in an awkward gesture of farewell. “Well, better get him back. I’ll see you at dinner, I suppose!”

 

Credence nodded, watching them go with a twisting heart and a deep swell of emotion that he did not dare to name. The MACUSA continued to sway with the churning waves, heedless of the inconsequential being standing lost and helpless within its creaking walls. Just before Mister Scamander walked down the hall and out of sight, the Niffler scurried up to peak over his shoulder and threw a parting squeak in his direction.

 

‘ _Bye, sea friend!_ ’

 

Credence allowed himself to smile in return, lifting his fingers up in a tiny wave. Once the shadows swallowed the bright colors that adorned Mister Scamander’s body like a second skin, however, Credence felt all of the happiness drain out of his every pore and he shuffled away in crippling despair. Mary Lou had sent him off to count the stocks of food in the depths of the ship’s hold, but he knew for a fact they had not changed since this morning. And so, instead, he descended the stairs and found a dark, cramped corner to curl up in to wait until the supper preparations would begin.

 

He tried to steady his racing heart, but he was not so stupid as to believe that he would succeed. It was a mistake that he had made one too many times in the past, one too many times to fall prey to again…and yet…a deep part of him wanted nothing more than to fall into Mister Scamander’s soft, comforting atmosphere and beg him to take him away from this floating prison of dead trees and stainless steel. Credence wanted to believe that Newt Scamander was a kind human being, that there was more goodness in the world to be found than he had ever been shown.

 

But Captain Graves…he had been good, too, once.

 

Graves had promised him freedom, adventure, affection—he had used such soft words, gentle touches, always giving Credence just enough to lose the battle against his greed and lust for any companionship he could find. And when Credence had finally been stupid enough to reach out for him, to fall completely for the lie that someone, anyone, would bother caring about him in the slightest… _oh_ , how he had fallen. How pitiful he had become, wasting away in the shadows and cradling the last jagged pieces of his broken heart in bleeding palms.

 

How much more did he have to suffer to learn his lesson? How many more Humans would have to break him before he stayed on the ground?

 

As the ocean sang its song, so close and yet so far beyond his reach, Credence swallowed his tears and shoved all the hope inside him down until it was a flickering, dying thing.

 

Perhaps Newt Scamander was a good man, but Credence would never allow himself to find out. He wouldn’t allow him to get any closer, wouldn’t become attached to that crooked grin and gentle warmth that called to him so deeply. It already hurt too much to even imagine, to know that it would all end the same no matter what.

 

Credence was alone, unloved, and that was never going to change.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Newt had not spoken to the Captain much since boarding the vessel, and the extent of their planning for Newt’s research was a single conversation about the potential threats that the MACUSA could encounter as she sailed along the American East Coast.

 

Graves had informed Newt that their main duty was to document any magical creature activity, ensure that the creatures stayed within a certain distance from the shipping routes and the city ports, and to exterminate any creature that went out of its way to cause trouble to the humans sharing their waters. While Newt disagreed with the last duty, he understood that a peaceful existence between all humans and magical creatures would certainly not happen overnight. As such, he and Graves had reached a compromise that Newt would be given a certain measure of power and freedom in dealing with any creatures they came across—so long as said creatures did not directly threaten the well-being and safety of the crew or the ship.

 

As the days began to stretch on without any sightings of any lifeforms, threatening or not, Newt finally broke down and begged whatever deities that could potentially exist for something interesting to happen.

 

Of course, it took another three days for such desperate wishing to come to any fruition— and he doubted that the crew would ever thank him for it.

 

After being blessed by calm waters and clear skies for so long, it was almost jarring for the crew to be thrust into a gathering darkness as rolling grey clouds smothered the winter sun. Thunder crackled through the air as the shadows silently loomed over the crew in anticipation, and in a unison born of pure adrenaline, they desperately scrambled across the teetering deck to their assigned positions. The salty gusts pushed against the ship with gathering strength, no longer playful and warm. The waves rose and danced with the howling wind, rocking the ship to and fro as the Captain shouted orders from his place at the helm.

 

“Get those sails down! Langdon, keep those ropes tight!”

 

While pleased that there was finally a different environment to look at, Newt knew all too well that he would only cause more mayhem and destruction if he were to try and insert himself in the cluster of bodies dashing around the main deck. And so, rather than escape to the shelter of the lower decks like a reasonable person, he found a dark corner near the quarter deck and grabbed ahold of the railing to watch the events of the morning unfold. The tight, pressed uniforms of the officers grew wrinkled and crooked in the raindrops hitting the deck with growing force, and it shocked Newt at how easily they fell into the role of calm, deadly masters of their craft.

 

It was even more shocking when, in the swirling mist of white shirts and silver buttons, a hunched dark figure suddenly appeared out of the shadows and made its way toward the quarter deck.

 

Newt watched with growing confusion as the young man from the galley—no, _Credence_ , that was his name—ducked and scurried across the deck with a stunning grace and agility. The magizoologist could tell just from their short encounter in the hallway that the young man was extremely shy, although there was a passion and light that had sparked in his eyes when he had forgotten that Newt was watching him. He could almost be handsome and sweet, if he allowed himself to grow more confident and comfortable in his own skin. Then again, Newt of all people knew how difficult it was to function around other human beings when you yourself could never truly fit in with them.

 

The people that Credence passed spared him no second glances, and he made his way up to the Captain’s side without any opposition whatsoever. Graves had both hands clutched to the wheel, keeping it steady and straight against the rocking of the ship below. Credence placed himself behind the Captain’s shoulder, their hushed conversation stolen away by the roaring thunder and wailing wind.

 

‘ _That’s odd,_ ’ Newt thought. ‘ _I’ve never seen them talking before._ ’

 

The conversation was over practically before it began, with Credence moving to stand behind the Captain’s back as the crew continued to fight the storm. Rain dribbled down Newt’s freckled face and darkened his unshaved chin as he continued to watch the scurrying sailors around him, waiting and useless—until suddenly, everything stopped.

 

The wind groaned in protest until it faded away into silence, leaving only the tense hush of a heavy stillness in its wake. The scent of rain was cold and heady in their noses as the clouds faded from their furious blacks and greys to a gentle dirty white against the clearing sky beyond. Even the churning waters that had shown no mercy only moments before stopped their rampage, and the USS MACUSA was left in the breathless aftershock of a horrific tempest snuffed out before it had truly begun.

 

“What on earth—?” Newt wondered aloud, rising from his crouch near the railing and peering over the side of the ship. The crew members closest to him sighed in relief, continuing their work with a notably lesser tension in their movements. As Newt watched, Credence was apparently dismissed with a short whisper from the distracted Captain, and silently removed himself from the quarter deck with slumped shoulders and a pale face.

 

Newt entertained the idea to approach the young man, to offer him a smile and soft words of comfort after such a tense atmosphere, but this thought was interrupted by a deep rumbling that arose from the dark depths behind him. With rising trepidation and excitement in equal measure, he glanced down into the churning waves still heaving from the storm’s short lifespan. The shadows of the deep pulsed and swirled with the waves as the rumbling transformed into a loud roar that echoed off the ship’s hull.

 

A flash of light glistened not ten kilometers away from where Newt was standing, and he could only stand and stare as a long, slithering body covered in vibrant scales breached the water’s surface.

 

“Oh, you beauty!” Newt cried softly to himself, abandoning his place at the port beam to run up the stairs leading to the helm. “Captain Graves! Sea serpent on the port side!”

 

The focused glare that the Captain had been directing to the bow of the ship became fixated on Newt’s face, his lips tight and his hands a permanent fixture on the wheel. The officers that had gathered around him in the calming moments after the storm all stared at where Newt’s call had alerted them, their eyes growing wide and afraid at the sight of growing humps of scale and muscle as the sea serpent danced along the waves left behind in the storm’s wake. Newt joined them at the side of the deck, bringing his ever-present Omnioculars to his eyes.

 

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of bright turquoise scales fading into a smooth violet underbelly, with dark fluttering plumes jutting up into all directions as the sea serpent swam beside them.

 

“It’s an adolescent, maybe 60 feet long. They like to play in rough waves, so it must have seen the storm and made its way over,” Newt explained to the bodies beside him. As expected, nobody seemed to care about his observations and they all remained silent.

 

“What are your plans, Mr. Scamander?” Graves asked gruffly. Newt lowered the Omnioculars but kept his eyes on the serpent’s progression through the water.

 

“Sea serpents are actually quite docile creatures. I’ve never heard of one attacking a ship of its own accord,” he explained. “We should leave it be. Let it pass us by.”

 

“And if this one suddenly decides to attack us?” Commander Shaw growled. Newt bit the inside of his cheek against the passively aggressive comments that rose in his throat, and instead addressed the Captain directly.

 

“Have one of your men get a few flares up here just in case.”

 

“Flares? What for?” the Commander demanded. Captain Graves shot him a quick glare that would have made lesser men tremble in fear.

 

“Do as the man says, Henry,” he said, waiting until the huffing Commander had left to follow his orders before speaking again. “Am I allowed to order the cannons readied as a precaution, Mr. Scamander?”

 

“…yes, Captain. Though I ask you avoid firing until absolutely necessary.” Newt made his way back down to the main deck, watching the serpentine humps disappearing and reappearing as the waves began to settle around them. He vaguely heard the orders being shouted behind him, but was far more concentrated on how close the sea serpent was getting to their ship. The MACUSA was much slower than the creature could swim, but that did not stop curious younglings from investigating objects they had never seen before.

 

A few of his fellow crewmates came up to watch alongside him, and he was surprised to find Jacob among them.

 

“It’s huge!” the baker gasped, his eyes wide and bright as he stared at the waves below.

 

“Adult sea serpents can grow up to 100 feet in length. This one is almost full grown, but it’s probably just begun to breach the surface,” Newt explained.

 

“Male or female?” Jacob asked, though whether he was only trying to entertain Newt by lulling him into polite conversation or genuinely curious, the magizoologist was unsure.

 

“Hard to tell from this angle.”

 

As the sun peeked out from behind the wall of clouds, the turquoise body finally dove down below the surface and the surrounding crowd heaved a large sigh of hopeful relief. Newt kept his reactions unexpressed, silently waiting for a sign that the serpent had officially gone. However, after only a short minute of silence, an explosion of foam and seawater burst up towards the sky beyond the bow of the ship. A deep snort harmonized with the abundance of splashes as water dripped down the sea serpent’s wide head.

 

“…oh, that’s definitely a female,” Newt murmured as the men at his side cried out in a horrified panic.

 

The sea serpent’s head was more equine in appearance than serpentine, with its wide violet nostrils and a long face that stretched up toward the sun. A thick, dark mane of overlapping teal membranes fell down the serpent’s neck and large black eyes blinked as the MACUSA came into view on its right side. The human bodies on the deck began to scatter like rats in a cellar, many immediately taking their places by the guns and cannons without being ordered to do so.

 

“Don’t fire!” Newt shouted, turning to stare up at the Captain for validation. Graves looked back and forth between the magizoologist and the creature now openly staring at their vessel with an innocent interest.

 

“Hold your fire, men!” the Captain shouted, slowly turning the wheel away from where the serpent’s head floated in the open air.

 

“I need a flare!” One of the lower-ranked soldiers tossed him the red stick with a worried grimace, and Newt ran as fast as he was able to the bow of the ship. Despite the Captain’s promise to cleave to Newt’s professional judgment, he understood that the human instinct to defend themselves was proportional to the size of the creature they perceived as the threat. Newt knew that the sea serpent meant them no real harm, although having her openly stare and move towards them was admittedly an intimidating sight.

 

As he reached the pointed extent of the bow, Newt stood with his back to the wind, held the flare away from his body, and lit the end with a fluid, forceful strike. Molten red sparks sprayed into the air as he raised the flare above his head, swirling the light into smooth lazy patterns that the sea serpent followed with her eyes. Ever so slowly, captivated by the movements of the light, she leaned her head down near the crawling bow of the ship and sniffed at the air above Newt’s head. The crew watched with baited breath as Newt raised the flare as high as he could and carefully reached out a steady hand to stroke the slimy scales across her muzzle.

 

“Here you are—here you are,” Newt said softly. As he had hoped, the serpent did not move to attack him or send any signals of agitation at being touched by human hands. Instead, she remained curious and focused only on the slight movements that Newt made with the flare.

 

After a few seconds of stroking and gentle whispers, Newt slowly backed away from the serpent’s head and threw the flare as far and high into the air as he could. The light sailed in a wide arc away from the ship, plopping into the waves and continuing to burn as it sank into the shadows below. The serpent turned from the ship, having lost all interest in the vessel in favor of the light source, and dove with a disorienting splash and a playful rumble in her throat. Rough cascades of seawater rained down on the protesting crew as Newt held back a snort of amusement, embracing the second unexpected shower he had received that day.

 

A short silence followed the serpent’s departure as Newt made his way back across the main deck, the waters rippling and foaming where the young female had disappeared. Crew members of all ranks stared at him with gaping mouths as he slicked back his dripping hair and purposefully avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. While he had not allowed himself to expect a thundering applause, Newt grew tense when he heard a huff of laughter and braced himself for ridicule. But to his surprise, it was a friendly face that came into view with a wide smile instead.

 

“That was amazing!” Jacob said, his voice high and breathless with admiration. Newt blinked at the unfamiliar praise and his lips drew up in an awkward smile against his conscious will. “Seriously, how did you do that?”

 

“Like I said, they’re quite docile,” Newt murmured, shrugging his shoulders and burrowing his hands deep into his trouser pockets. The spell of silence over the deck fell away after Jacob’s outburst, with many crew members conversing in hushed tones that seemed more and more impressed the longer Newt listened. Just as he was about to bask in the rare recognition of his success, thick thuds of a brisk military walk made its way over to where Newt and Jacob were standing. Newt raised his head as the Captain stopped right in front of him, his face a dark, emotionless mask and his shoulders tense and pulled back.

 

“Nicely done, Mr. Scamander. I’m quite impressed,” Graves said, although his cold professional tone implied the opposite. Newt swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat. “If all of your encounters are that successful, we’ll have a fruitful voyage, indeed.”

 

Without waiting for a response, the Captain turned and retired to his quarters as the crew gradually made their way back to their posts and set about tidying the main deck. Newt and Jacob watched him go, the air now so much colder with an unexpected weight of disappointment.

 

“What’s up with him?” Jacob wondered, his voice betraying his astonishment at the Captain’s almost hostile attitude. Newt shook his head, just as lost and anxious as his bunkmate.

 

Unable to find answers in his own behavior or experiences, and unwilling to confront the Captain over something so harmless and trivial, Newt pushed any negative feelings he might have had for the brief encounter and gestured for Jacob to lead the way back to his mechanical post down in the hold. After all, they had just confronted a giant sea serpent, and the MACUSA would need as much help as she could get abandoning the area as soon as possible.

 


	8. Chapter 8

It was not often that Newt found a kindred spirit. 

 

His mother had been his first true friend, when it came to magical creatures, and had taught him everything he needed to know about the ones she had encountered over the span of her prime. He wrote to her often, describing to her the different species he would come across and any new information that he gathered about their behaviors and beauty. He doubted that she truly cared about most of it, but she never hesitated to encourage his findings and give her own opinions when her youngest sought her advice. 

 

Then there had been Leta Lestrange, a beautiful young Vampire shunned by their classmates for her magical nature. She had been drawn to Newt’s compassion and love of studying magical creatures, and despite her controlling personality and propensity to forget how fragile mortal beings could be, they had become almost inseparable throughout their early school years. They bonded over the helpless feelings of being an outcast for something they simply could not change, running into the surrounding forests and lakes to search for any new creatures they could discover. 

 

But that had been a long time ago, and people change…or, at least, he wanted to believe that was the reason it all fell apart. 

 

He had not really been able to speak with Credence since that time in the hallway, but Newt thought that he had seen true interest and affection for the Niffler in those deep, dark eyes. Of course, the Niffler was undeniable adorable and could melt most hearts—so long as they did not have anything shiny and valuable on their person for him to steal. On top of that, Newt was cripplingly awkward at the best of times and probably had not made a good impression on the young man, if their silent, infrequent encounters at supper were anything to go by. 

 

And, finally, there was Jacob Kowalski, who had not stopped smiling since Newt’s ‘heroic’ display with the sea serpent. 

 

“Sorry, I know I keep bringing it up, but it was just so—I just can’t believe how easy it was! You didn’t even _ hesitate _ to pet that thing!” the baker exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck as the two men made their way back to their tiny cabin. 

 

Dinner had been an interesting and lively affair with even Credence, who often kept his eyes almost devoutly trained on his task of serving the crew, giving him a small smile before tearing his eyes away. Jacob and Tina had taken turns telling Queenie all about the incident in embellished detailed, completely forgetting that she had already read their minds and painted a much more accurate picture of the morning for herself. Newt chose to suppress any comments he had, although he caught the younger Goldstein sister holding back laughter whenever he would think an exasperated criticism of his peers’ exaggeration of his skill and majesty. 

 

“I’ve met a few sea serpents before. They like the light,” Newt explained. “So long as you don’t try to attack them, most creatures are content to leave humans alone. Unfortunately, the general consensus among humans is to shoot first and ask questions never.” 

 

“It’s a real shame,” Jacob sighed, taking off his evening jacket and hanging it off the wooden footboard of his cot. “They seem really beautiful, once you get over the fear of them.” 

 

Newt ran his fingers over the smooth fabric of his waistcoat, tracing the outline of Pickett’s hidden body when he reached it and sitting on the edge of his own cot. While Jacob’s enthusiasm warmed his heart in a way that he hadn’t felt in many long years, there was always a risk when meeting a possible kindred spirit. If he showed Jacob the case, and brought him into his magical world with open arms, then he put both himself and his charges in the vulnerable position of the baker’s mercy. Jacob could easily sneak into their room when Newt was not around and take the case to the Captain, revealing all of Newt’s secrets and resulting in his banishment to the brig. 

 

On the other hand…what if…

 

“…would you like to see more?” Newt asked, his heart pounding and the warmth of the case’s magic spreading across his skin. Jacob looked startled and confused, but took a moment to think Newt’s offer over carefully before answering. 

 

“As in…right now?” 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, uh…yeah, sure, if you have any,” Jacob chuckled. Newt hesitated only a moment more before jumping up from the bed, making sure their cabin door was tightly closed, and grabbing his case from its place against the wall. He placed it on the floor, allowing his mind to drift over the images of the magic inside and flicking it open with a flourish. To Jacob’s utter astonishment, if his sharp bark of alarm was anything to go by, Newt descended down the wooden ladder inside the case. 

 

He paused to wait for Jacob to follow, and after a few seconds of unchanging silence, rolled his eyes before sticking his hand out of the case’s opening and beckoning to the baker imperiously.

 

“Come on,” he said. 

 

Newt finished descending the stairs with a sigh, removing his waistcoat, undoing his bow tie, and pulling his braces off of his shoulders as he went. The smells of his cramped, crowded shed wafted over him as he threw his waistcoat onto a nearby hook, gathering buckets and a cleaver to prepare the evening feed for his charges. As he spread a raw carcass out for cutting, a loud thump through the opening of his case reached his ears, and he turned to see Jacob’s dangling legs flailing about above the steps. Newt paused to consider whether helping Jacob was in either of their best interests, when the larger man finally crashed down the steps and collided with the multiple objects, instruments, and bottles that Newt had stored up out of the way. 

 

The Billywigs that often hovered around his hanging plants buzzed angrily and zipped away from their sudden guest as Jacob stared in wonder at the small shed Newt called home away from home. His eyes took in the organized chaos that made up Newt’s workspace and potions bench, the small desk piled high with manuscripts and books, and the various magical knickknacks that the magizoologist had collected from his travels around the world. Newt allowed him the peace to take it all in, lifting up his cleaver and hacking chunks off the carcass and tossing them into the bucket. Once he had plenty for a single night’s feeding, he set the cleaver aside and thrust the handle of the bucket into Jacob’s hands. 

 

“Take that,” he commanded absentmindedly. He grabbed his waistcoat and threw it back on, grabbing another bucket filled with Mooncalf pellets and heading out the door with a flourish. “Come on.” 

 

He clamored down the rickety steps of the shed and made his way over to the warm, dry slice of desert he had created for the newest addition to his variegated family. 

 

Frank peered down at him from his rocky perch, his golden feathers twinkling and ruffling in the false Arizona sun that hovered above them. As Newt approached, Frank spread his glorious wings and rose gallantly in the air as sudden magical clouds gathered around him. Thunder and lightning shook the ground as a torrential downpour fell upon the area where Newt was standing. When the Thunderbird had first been rescued from his captors, Newt had believed that the rain was a sign of stress and warning—now he knew that Frank was simply testing his valor, and stepped into the harsh rainfall without hesitation. 

 

“Come on! Down you come…” he coaxed, allowing his clothing to become drenched as Frank calmed himself and landed on a crooked rock right in front of him. As always, the rain fell away almost instantly and the brilliant, hot sun filled the small habitat once more. The moisture that was trapped in Newt’s clothes began to evaporate at an astonishing rate as the magizoologist reached into his trouser pocket and produced a handful of grubs for Frank to see. 

 

“Come on,” he said, stroking the Thunderbird with his free hand in a calming gesture of affection. Frank screeched and purred as he allowed Newt to pet his beak, his eyes trained on the closed fist containing the elusive grubs. Soft, hesitant footsteps reached Newt’s ears as they approached from behind.

 

It took only a quick glance at Jacob’s awe-filled face to know that he had made the right decision. 

 

“You see, he’s the other reason I came to America. To bring Frank home.” The footsteps slowly came forward, and Frank immediately began to flap his wings and screech in agitation. Newt held out a warning hand to the anxious baker. “No, sorry—stay there—he’s a wee bit sensitive to strangers.”

 

Jacob heeded his warning and took a step back while Newt continued to comfort the Thunderbird with gentle hands and soft murmurs of reassurance. 

 

“He was trafficked, you see. I found him in Egypt, he was all chained up. Couldn’t leave him there, had to bring him back. I’m going to put you back where you belong, aren’t I, Frank?” Newt reach forward and embraced Frank’s head with a hopeful grin and daydreams of watching the majestic creature fly off into the sunset filing his head. “…to the wilds of Arizona.”

 

Newt released the Thunderbird with a smile and threw the handful of grubs into the air. Frank followed them with a gust of flying sand, silver sunlight bursting from his mighty wings. Newt turned and put his hands to his mouth, releasing an echoing roar into the depths of the neighboring habitat. As he passed, he grabbed the bucket of meat from Jacob’s hold and watched the growing cloud of dust across the sandy, moonlit landscape. He released another call just as Jacob crept up behind him. 

 

“Alright, here they come.” 

 

“Here who comes?” Jacob asked breathlessly. Newt smiled to himself as the sounds of a thundering stampede grew stronger in its approach. 

 

“The Graphorns.” The dust began to fall away, revealing strong, charging bodies with slimy tentacles waving in the air as they approached Newt with boundless enthusiasm. Jacob released a scream of alarm and attempted to back away, but Newt grabbed ahold of his arm and pulled him back to his side with a poorly hidden grin of amusement. 

 

“You’re alright. You’re alright,” he assured. The male Graphorn stopped directly in front of Newt, reaching out with his muzzle of tentacles and resting them on Newt’s shoulder in a silent embrace. “Hello, hello!”

 

“What—?!” Jacob gasped, his entire body tense as the eldest Graphorn baby rubbed up against his legs and licked at his hand with its tiny tentacles. After realizing that the creature meant him no harm, Jacob allowed his shoulders to relax, and he slowly reached out to stroke the baby’s head. Newt smiled, pleased with the baker’s progress, and pointed at the mother and youngest baby resting on top of a nearby boulder. 

 

“They’re the last breeding pair in existence. If I hadn’t managed to rescue them, that could have been the end of Graphorns forever,” he explained. He felt Jacob’s stare on the back of his neck as he reached into the bucket of meat and threw a large chunk into the dusty enclosure. The baby Jacob had been petting lost all interest in their strange human guest, and greedily chased after the meat with a hungry rumble. 

 

“So, what, you—you rescue these creatures?” Jacob asked. 

 

“Yes, that’s right. Rescue, nurture, and protect them, and I’m gently trying to educate the world about them.” 

 

“That’s…that’s incredible, man!” Jacob said, and Newt fought to keep a pleased flush from rising to his cheeks. “How did you even do all this?” 

 

“When I started my expeditions, I did a nice old fairy a favor and she made my suitcase as infinite as I required. All I have to do is think about a new habitat, wish for it to exist, and there you are,” Newt said. Jacob followed the magizoologist as he traveled through a cave opening into an expansive bamboo wood, ducking and diving through the trees as they went. 

 

“What if you think about it without meaning to?” Jacob wondered aloud. Newt held up his bare wrist, the black ink of the fairy’s enchanted monogram glistening faintly in the sunlight. 

 

“That’s why I have this. If I think about the case too much, I just have to rub it and the protective magic activates—keeps me from changing everything too much. And keeps it hidden from prying eyes.” Newt reached down into his vest pocket and brought Pickett out into the open air. “Titus? Finn? Poppy, Marlow, Tom?”

 

Pickett perched himself on the back of Newt’s hand as they made their way into a sunlit glade with tall, lush trees and mossy hills. Newt approached a small tree that was bathed in a static ray of sunlight where his small branch of Bowtruckles chattered and climbed among the leaves.

 

“He had a cold. He needed some body warmth,” Newt said to Jacob. The baker made a small noise of sympathy as Newt extended his hand towards the tree. At the sight of a quivering Pickett, the other Bowtruckles clacked noisily and eyed him with suspicion. “Right, on you hop.”

 

Pickett gripped Newt’s fingers with his tiny branched fingers, whining pitifully and stepping back every time Newt tried to coax him into the tree. Sadly, Newt was not completely surprised at Pickett’s reluctance, and he had nobody to blame but himself. He had noticed that Pickett’s health had much improved a few days ago, and had sworn that he would force him back into the branch as soon as he was able. And then, as so often happened when his creatures turned their large, pleading eyes in his direction, Newt found himself putting the reunion off longer and longer than was necessary or advised. 

 

“He has some attachment issues,” Newt whispered to Jacob. The baker’s amazed smile refused to falter, and he stared openly at the Bowtruckles with a wonder that took years off of his face. “Now, come on, Pickett. No, they’re not going to bully you, now come on…Pickett!”

 

Newt sighed as, in a final act of desperation, Pickett threw himself back and hung from his spindly hands from Newt’s hovering fingertips. Jacob chuckled sympathetically as Newt shrugged in defeat. 

 

“All right. But that is exactly why they accuse me of favoritism!” Newt placed Pickett onto his shoulder, watching as the small creature burrowed underneath his shirt collar. Jacob waved to the remaining Bowtruckles, who clicked and shifted in interest. 

 

“Hey, Mr. Scamander?” he croaked softly. 

 

“Oh, call me Newt.”

 

“…Newt. Are you allowed to have this many creatures on a ship?” Newt sighed deeply in his chest, wandering over to the twisted nest of bamboo stalks that held his freshly hatched Occamies. The slithering babies chirped in delight when they caught sight of him approaching, and he reached down into their nest to check their newest sibling over. 

 

“Legally? Technically? Ethically?”

 

“All of the above?” 

 

“Uh—then, no. No, I am not,” Newt confessed, allowing his eyes to drift over to Jacob’s face to catch his reaction. Where he expected to find concern or a harsh frown of disappointment, however, he saw only a small smirk of acceptance. 

 

“Okay. So this is all top secret,” Jacob said with a nod. “Gotcha.” 

 

“You won’t tell anyone?” he asked softly, cradling the Occamy in his cupped hands and watching as Jacob leaned forward to get a closer look. 

 

“Course not! It’s no one’s business but yours, right?” Jacob moved to stroke its head, but the Occamy snapped its beak up to nip at him in response. Jacob started backward with a gasp as Newt sheepishly moved to return the baby to its nest.

 

“Ah, no, sorry—don’t pet them. They learn to defend themselves early. See, their shells are made of silver so they’re incredibly valuable. Their nests tend to get ransacked by hunters,” he explained. Jacob did not seem to take the Occamy’s attack to heart, opting instead to nod in acceptance and stare out at the expansive world of magic beyond their line of sight. 

 

As Newt turned to join him, he tilted his head and offered his new friend a shy smile of invitation. 

 

“Would you…like to see the rest?” A lopsided grin was his reward, and Newt watched, both intrigued and flattered, as Jacob nodded with an enthusiasm he had not seen in anyone in a very long time.  

 

“Yeah, sure! Lead on!” 

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

It was as if the sea was conspiring against him.

 

Not a few days after Credence had sworn to keep his heart away from Newt Scamander, a violent storm brewed on the horizon. As expected, Commander Shaw had appeared in the galley doorway just as the clouds began to part and heavy rain began to fall from the heavens. He barely glanced at Mary Lou, something most other officers would never dare to attempt, before summoning Credence up to the main deck to assist the Captain. Despite her offense at being ignored, the storm made everyone on the ship uneasy and she allowed Credence to abandon his duties without argument or threat of retribution.

 

“Let’s go, freak,” Commander Shaw growled as Credence followed the nervously. “The Captain is waiting for you by the helm.”

 

The vast majority of crew members, no matter their rank, accepted Credence’s strange relationship with the Captain without thinking about it too much. They gave Credence a wide berth, allowed him uneventful passage to every level of the ship, and never asked too many questions. Commander Shaw, on the other hand, seemed determined to be the exception to the rule and went out of his way to accost Credence whenever he could get away with it. Credence suspected that deep down, the Commander was jealous of the seemingly boundless trust and attention that the Captain bestowed upon the simple galley boy.

 

If only he knew.

 

The ship rocked along the pulsing sea with growing force, and Credence was abandoned to find his own way up to the Captain's side in the beginnings of a dark torrent that threatened to sink them all. In the midst of the rush of adrenaline, a deadly calm overcame him as the scent of salt and electricity smothered him in its affections. The fear in the air was practically palpable, and it was with great regret that Credence danced between the running bodies trying to keep the vessel afloat. It would be so easy, and so, _so_ satisfying, to watch it all crumble around him had he been allowed to do so.

 

Captain Graves stood with both hand clutching the wheel, his knuckles white with the force of keeping the ship as steady and straight as possible. Credence slinked up behind his shoulder, head bowed and waiting for his orders. He did not have to imagine what the Captain would say—it was always the same.

 

“Dissipate the storm. Calm the sea,” Graves growled, his eyes never leaving the distant bow. His voice was almost lost under the roar of the approaching thunder and gusts of wind, but the orders were clear and direct in a way that Credence could not ignore.

 

“Yes, Captain,” he murmured, stepping back and closing his eyes.

 

The tempest raged on around him as the darkness inside awoke from its slumber and spread through his limbs like wildfire. The bombardment of sound fell away until there was only the gentlest of whispers caressing the edges of his mind—a deep, erratic pulse that fell in tandem to his heartbeat.

 

‘ _Sleep_ ,’ he begged silently. ‘ _Rest now. You can come back tomorrow_.’

 

The wind protested for only a moment before slowly matching the deep, even rhythm of his breathing. The sea’s violent vibrato calmed into the sweet, rocking lullaby he so often fell asleep to, heeding his silent request and bowing to his magic. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds as they dried their tears, and in only a few seconds the storm had vanished as if it had never been there to begin with.

 

“Excellent work, Credence,” Graves’ voice whispered. Credence opened his eyes, the open skies and resting waters making him shiver as the darkness within roared with disappointment and pride in equal measure. “You’re dismissed.”

 

With his shoulders slumped, Credence shuffled away from the helm and made his way back down towards the main deck. In the five years he had been sailing under Captain Graves’ command, he had performed the same feat countless times—and each and every time, he died a little more inside. He knew that his abilities were the only reason that Graves really kept him around, and that he was simply a tool for the Captain to maintain his power over the sea and within the military rankings.

 

At first, Credence had attempted to convince himself otherwise and had invented countless excuses. Now he felt only hollow and resigned.  

 

The air was thick with the smell of salt and damp teak, and the heavy silence that had fallen after the storm’s sudden retreat remained heavy and full of invisible magic—a magic he should have known would not be ignored for long this far out at sea.

 

“Captain Graves! Sea serpent on the port side!”

 

Every eye on the ship turned to see what the commotion was all about, and Credence was shocked to find Mister Scamander rushing up to the helm in a whirl of dripping energy. As they all watched, a large glistening blue body began to breach the waves in long, gliding humps. The young sea serpent’s song echoed across the sky as she disappeared beneath the surface and resurfaced with a momentous splash, her wide, dark eyes locking onto his as he cowered with the other crewmembers scattered across the main deck.

 

‘ ** _Greetings, little one. Why did you banish the storm?_** ’ she sang, her deep ethereal voice wrapping around him and sinking into his soul.

 

Shouts and anxious footsteps rang out around him, and the darkness that writhed beneath his skin pulsed with grief at the cruel, inevitable fate that awaited the beautiful being towering above them.

 

‘ _No! Don’t kill her! Please don’t kill her!_ ’ he prayed silently. ‘ _She’s innocent! Please don’t kill her!_ ’

 

And then, in a swirl of restless color, Mister Scamander swept past him and brought light and peace to a cruel, unforgiving nightmare.

 

Without magic or the threat of force, he effortlessly reached out and bonded with a wild, powerful child of the sea, saving her from a ruthless attack born out of fear and misunderstanding. He showed no hesitation, only the upmost respect, and he did it all with barely a word and a blazing flare in his hand. His touch looked so gentle and welcoming that it took everything within Credence’s broken body not to throw himself at the British man’s feet and beg him to take him away from the hell that had become his life.

 

Credence found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Mister Scamander’s flushing face as the sea serpent took her leave of their ship, his own cheeks glowing pink against his wishes. It was as if the man were a completely different person than the one he so often met in the mess hall, with an endless cheerfulness and confidence suddenly blazing from every freckled pore as soon as he was faced with a creature unable to speak Human languages. It was breathtaking—until Captain Graves stormed in and trampled all of that joy into dust.

 

‘ _Why are you surprised?_ ’ the inner voice inside his head questioned. ‘ _It’s what he does._ ’

 

As Credence moved back into the shadows and made his way down to the galley, the gossip began to follow him almost instantly. Whispers of praise and surprise, all surrounding this stranger’s bravery when all others would have panicked, spread like ink through the water until it inevitably reached the ears of the ship’s cook. Credence was not surprised in the slightest when it was young Modesty who recounted the tale at their table, her wide eyes bright with innocent enthusiasm.

 

“It was like a giant snake, Ma! But with a horse head!” she said, her napkin draped over her bouncing legs as they all ate their simple lunch of greens and potatoes. Credence kept his eyes on his plate, trying to limit the clinking of his fork in case Mary Lou found it distracting and lashed out at him for it.

 

“Don’t be fooled, my dear. Those creatures are abominations. The Devil’s Hand made manifest if there ever was one,” Mary Lou warned venomously. Chastity nodded almost absentmindedly, her lips curling up in a smile as she sipped from her glass.

 

Credence swallowed against the lump in his throat, silently thanking the ocean Gods that Graves had not revealed his true nature to Mary Lou when the Captain had shackled him to her care. Oh, she suspected that he was one such abomination that existed in the grand scheme of the world, of course—but suspicion was only permission for beatings and insults. A confirmation surely would have meant his death by her hand, and for all of his faults and facades, Captain Graves was not stupid enough to claim ignorance of that fact. 

 

“Does that mean Mr. Scamander is a servant of the Devil? It looked like he could talk to it,” Modesty said. Mary Lou’s jaw clenched, and this simple movement was enough to make Modesty tense and swallow any enthusiasm or other questions she may have had. Credence paused in his mindless eating, waiting for his false mother’s verdict with bated breath.

 

“…you may be right, Modesty,” Mary Lou whispered. She rubbed the black rosary beads around her wrist, her eyes glazing over as faraway thoughts and images danced within in her head. “Those who command the Devil’s beasts…how else would they do so, if they did not succumb to the Devil's whispers?”

 

Silence reigned over their tiny table, with even pious Chastity eyeing her mother’s restless fingers with wariness. Modesty’s legs had gone still, her thin cotton napkin useless at providing any shelter against the sudden chill in the air. For his part, Credence waited only in anticipation for any anger that Mary Lou would take out on him. After all, an abomination was an abomination, and if she could not snuff out Mister Scamander’s existence for any imagined offenses then she would settle for Credence’s blood.

 

“…I want you to stay away from that man, children,” Mary Lou finally decided. “The Captain trusts him, but evil hides in plain sight. We must be vigilant.”

 

“Yes, Ma,” they said in unison. Credence finished eating his meager meal, thankful that he had escaped her wrath for now and yet unable to ever fully rest in her presence.

 

Mary Lou was a special type of Human, vicious in her contained rage and so easily turning from one emotion to another when it suited her. She would bless the meals they provided for the crew in the name of her God, and yet she saw the Devil in every face that passed her by too closely. She would speak in kind, soft tones that bordered on comforting, and yet her words were venom in the bleeding wounds born from her hand.

 

_Wicked._

_Abomination._

_Freak._

 

Words that seeped into his very skin and settled along the black energy that convulsed through his blood. A power he was forced to hide, to deny, to release once in a blue moon at the Captain’s command and yet never often enough for him to be satisfied. It prickled and raged against his flesh, crying out at the injustice of it all and unable to leave unless the Captain ordered him to allow it. How easy it would be to strike his captors down—to release the violent storm within and drown them all into the endless depths below!

 

But then, he would drown right along with them, because Selkies couldn’t swim without their pelts.

 

It was what kept him from leaving, trapped under Captain Graves’ iron fist without even the tiniest hope of escape or release. It was why he stayed aboard a vessel traveling over his long lost home while being unable to return, the tempting waves tormenting him with their proximity and silent song. Credence knew that his pelt was hidden somewhere in Graves’ office, if the ache within his chest that intensified whenever he passed his captor’s door was any indication.

 

But knowing was almost worse, since Graves had ordered him never to search for the pelt—and Credence could not refuse a direct order from whoever held the pelt in his possession.  

 

And so, day after day after day for five tortuous years, Credence had wandered the world a prisoner within his own flesh. He bowed to Graves’ every word and submitted to Mary Lou’s cleansings, weak and dying in both body and spirit. He had almost forgotten what it was like to feel anything besides despair and numbness, to have the gentle stirrings of hope warm his soul and make him wish for a new day to arrive.

 

As Credence escaped to his tiny closet of a room, curling up in the farthest corner of his cot and letting the shadows hide his face, the memories of Mister Scamander’s smile and gentle whispers bubbled to the surface and left his face burning with shame.

 

Was that the way he spoke to every creature he encountered, Credence wondered? Was he always so patient, so calm and comforting in the eye of the storm? Would he look at Credence with that same joy and affection he had shown the sea serpent, holding out a hand and beckoning him into the light?

 

‘ _No! No, no, don’t think about it! Don’t!_ ’ he scolded himself, curling even further into a tight ball of pain and despair. ‘ _It’ll never happen! Never!_ ’

 

It was agony, these feelings, and at the end of it all he truly had to wonder _why_.

 

Why had Mister Scamander invaded his thoughts so thoroughly, to the point where his heart stuttered every time he thought of his crooked smile? Why was this stranger, this simple man, suddenly so important when all other Humans barely stood apart from the grey, shapeless blur that had become his life? Why was Credence so determined to imagine that anyone would be better than Captain Graves, would offer him freedom and true affection?

 

Was he really that desperate?

 

It was already far too late to go back. Already, the daydreams were pouring in. Would Mister Scamander look at him like a fascinating mystery to be studied and worshiped? Would his eyes grow wide and bright if he knew the truth? Would he cradle Credence’s pelt in his hands like precious silk, draping it over his shoulders and rubbing its soft surface against the stubble on his cheek?

 

‘ _Stop! Don’t! DON’T!!!_ ’

 

Such dangerous fantasies were born of hope, a hope that Mister Scamander would be as kind to him as he had been to a creature unable to be brought to their knees and controlled, and Credence was far too lost in his fear to have those hopes blossom beyond a dying bud.

 


	10. Chapter 10

It was hard being the black sheep of the family. Newt, like anybody else, felt complete and assured when given praise and recognition for his contributions. However, there was a fine line between recognition and attention—and Newt never really cared for being the center of attention.

 

His mother was an award-winning Hippogriff breeder, using her gifts of animal communication to ensure she only purchased the best to breed and show. His father was a well-respected member of the government, who had used his wit and compassion for the masses to climb the corporate ladder well before Newt had even been born. His older brother Theseus was a war hero, beloved by those he worked for and feared by those he hunted down in the name of the law. All of them thrived on reputation. All three basked in the spotlight and glory that came with their great deeds, and Newt…

 

Well, Newt tended to annoy people.

 

It was fine, for the most part. The disdain with which the human race generally regarded him was quite mutual on the best of days, and having his creatures safe and happy was all the reward he really needed in life. And yet, every so often, a time would come when Newt found himself the recipient of respect among his fellow humans—a time when he was no longer the outcast, but a contemporary artist who could bring enlightenment and knowledge to those willing to learn.

 

And, inevitably, it would become too much for him to handle.

 

Jacob was his saving grace, really, if only because he somehow managed to be both supportive of Newt’s new fame and respectful of his personal space at the same time. The cheerful baker had taken to the suitcase like a fish to water, and continued to assist Newt in his nightly feeding rituals. He found every new creature fascinating and beautiful, and heeded Newt’s every instruction with the utmost care no matter how tired he was from his work on the ship. 

 

The rest of the crew was a different story. His stunt with the sea serpent had opened the eyes of so many, and yet they had all somehow missed the point of the whole thing. Sailors of all different ranks and duties began to bombard him with questions about the sea creatures they had encountered on their missions, mostly focusing on ways to tame or hunt them down without putting themselves in harm's way. Newt fed them roundabout riddles that were useless in practice through gritted teeth and averted eyes, trying his best not to punch those who clearly had no real respect for his work.

 

And as he had expected, like most crowds tended to do, the crew of the MACUSA was quick to turn on their newfound hero when things did not go as well as everybody had hoped.

 

It took almost a week of hiding and deflecting before Newt’s skills were once again called to the helm by Captain Graves. The skies had been clear and the air had been cool since the first fleeting storm of the voyage, and it was among relatively small waves that the MACUSA came upon the mutilated wreckage of a similar, large wooden vessel. Jagged pieces of plank and tattered remains of sail floated only a few yards away from a cluster of rocks and caverns, with no clear signs of life as far as the eye could see.

 

At least, there were no signs of _human_ life.

 

“What do you make of that, Mr. Scamander?” Captain Graves asked, gesturing with a nod of his head to the bright mass of tentacles writhing on the foaming line between the sea and the rocks. Newt reached into the inner pockets of his blue overcoat and retrieved his bulging journal of field notes. A quick search through his sketches confirmed his suspicions, as well as his greatest fear.

 

“Bloody hell! Not good, not good!” he babbled softly. He glanced at the tentacles again, bobbing his head and ducking at different angles to get a better look despite already knowing what they were facing. “That…is a Blue-Ringed Kraken, Captain Graves.”

 

“Is it any more dangerous than other krakens?” Commander Shaw asked. The Captain stared at the beast in silence, his eyes blank and cold in a way that did not comfort Newt in the slightest.

 

“The Blue-Ringed Kraken is the most dangerous creature in the entire ocean. Its venom is used to make some of the deadliest poisons off and on the market,” Newt explained quietly. “…this is the closest I’ve ever been to one.”

 

“What are the odds it will let us pass?” Graves asked.

 

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

 

“Shall we kill it, then?”

 

“No!” Newt cried, both horrified and furious at the Captain’s disinterested tone and unwavering expression.

 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Commander Shaw growled. “It’s taken out one ship already! What hope do we have?”

 

“Well, I have had some luck with smaller krakens before, but it’s a risk. One bite or swipe of its claws, and we’d be dead in seconds,” Newt said. “I suggest we try to go around it, and ready the cannon nets just in case.”

 

“Nets?” Commander Shaw asked, his nose wrinkling up in confusion.

 

“If you can contain it, I might be able to calm it down and send it on its way,” Newt said. Graves looked at him with a scrutinizing expression, and Newt hesitated before admitting, “Well, I can’t promise anything, but…” 

 

There was a second of hesitation before the Captain sighed and nodded to his small band of gathered officers.

 

“You heard the man. Order the cannons readied. Let’s hope we can avoid this thing,” he said. He turned the wheel as far as he could in the direction of the open waters beyond, his jaw clenched and his shoulders tense. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Scamander.”

 

Newt chose not to respond, focusing instead on the pulsing blue rings scattered over the glistening white surface of the kraken’s arms. The tentacles slicked across the dark rocks in lazy patterns, more curious and distracted than predatory. The MACUSA glided through the floating pieces of wreckage at the fastest speed she could go, and the crew stood at their battle stations in a silence that bordered on haunting.

 

For a short time, filled with tension and fear, nothing happened.

 

And then, all at once, the sea exploded around them in a flash of color.

 

A large, muscular white head covered in black spines rose in an arc near the bow of the ship, with a thin membranous hood spreading out from the kraken’s neck like a cobra. A smooth black beak cracked open to release a vicious screeching hiss, and the creature reared up onto its four front claws on the nearby rocks to tower over the masts and glare down at the quivering humans below. Four long white tentacles covered in vibrant black and electric blue rings slammed against the churning waves, connected by a thin white membrane in between each individual arm.

 

It was the most horrifying, vicious, monstrous, beautiful creature that Newt had ever laid his eyes on.

 

“Fire the nets!” Captain Graves bellowed. Newt winced at the ear-splitting blasts of the firing cannons as large, thick roped nets shot out at the kraken’s head and arms. The kraken pulled and swiped at the nets as one after another became entangled around its limbs and grew tighter the more that it struggled to free itself. The tentacles that remained unbound grabbed ahold of whatever parts of the MACUSA they could reach, wrapping themselves around the bow and jostling them all to and fro.

 

A cold pressure grabbed ahold of Newt’s heart and squeezed as the kraken shrieked with outrage and toppled over onto the rocks in a tangled heap.

 

‘ _This was foolish_ ,’ he scolded himself. ‘ _This isn’t helping anything! They’ll maim it beyond reason, and then we’ll all die anyway!_ ’

 

“Langdon, prepare a lifeboat! I need at least four men! Mr. Scamander, prepare to disembark. Henry, take the wheel,” Captain Graves commanded. Newt swallowed nervously as Commander Shaw flinched back in horror.

 

“Captain?”

 

“Well, we can’t both go, Henry, that would be stupid,” the Captain said with raised eyebrows. “I will accompany Mr. Scamander to calm this beast. You get those tentacles off my ship and get the rest of the crew out of here as quickly as possible. Understand?”

 

“Yes, Captain,” the Commander said. The two men exchanged places without another word, and Newt followed in the shadow of the Captain’s confident stride to the small lifeboat dangling precariously off the port side of the ship. Four brave sailors had volunteered to ride with them, all of them sturdy, imposing individuals that carried guns and knives on their belts.

 

Newt held onto the side of the lifeboat with aching fingers as the keel slid into the rocky waves, the screams of the kraken echoing across the wind and making his ears ring. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to cut the beast loose and throw all caution to the wind, but he also accepted that this particular creature was a vicious killer and would not hesitate to rip them all into pieces and drown the remains. The stern-faced volunteers rowed the lifeboat up to the rocky islet, keeping as much distance between their boat and the snapping beak of the kraken as possible.

 

Not bothering to wait for the rest of his small group, Newt swallowed his fear, leapt out of the boat, and approached the kraken on bent knees and shaking legs.

 

“It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m not here to hurt you,” he said softly. He crept forward with both of his hands out and open, keeping his body completely within the sight of the kraken’s nearest eye. Deep, guttural hisses made the stone beneath him tremble. “That’s it, it’s alright now.”

 

Suddenly, the kraken snapped its head forward, opening its black beak and aiming directly for Newt’s head. Newt flinched back with a gasp as the beak, which was easily over twice his size, missed him by only a few scant inches. The Captain and his men all stayed well away from the kraken’s head near the lifeboat, watching with unease and no small amounts of wariness.

 

“I know, I know,” Newt soothed, keeping his neck bared and his hands in plain sight. “It’s not fun, is it?”

 

Newt crouched down on his hands and knees, holding his body extremely still and staring directly into bright golden eyes and horizontal black pupils to show he was neither prey nor a threat. Once the kraken had calmed to only the occasional twitch, Newt lowered his voice and began to recite an old poem he had learned from Nereids on his past excursions.

 

“ _Lig dul ar do imní_  
_agus a bheith go hiomlán soiléir-hearted,_  
_cosúil leis an aghaidh scáthán_  
_go bhfuil aon íomhánna._  
_Más mian leat a scáthán soiléir,_  
_behold tú féin_  
_agus féach an fhírinne shameless,_  
_rud a léiríonn an scáthán_.”

 

As he spoke, the kraken’s pupils widened and its entire demeanor began to settle into a sense of reluctant serenity. The nets stopped digging into its multicolored flesh, and its writhing tentacles loosened their grip on the MACUSA—enough that the sailors slowly began to push them to the edges of the main deck and keep them away from their supplies and readied cannons. Newt kept his body low as he crept forward across the jagged rocks, his voice never rising or losing its comforting tone.

 

“ _Más féidir miotal a polished_  
_chun bailchríoch scáthán-mhaith,_  
_méid a d'fhéadfadh an scáthán snasta_  
_an chroí ag teastáil?_  
_Idir an scáthán agus an croí_  
_tá an difríocht amháin:_  
_cheilt an croí rúin,_  
_cé nach bhfuil an scáthán_.”

 

There was something about the Gaelic language that the smaller krakens on his journey had fallen in love with, something that Newt could not quite place or understand. Lilting poems and ancient songs soothed the giant creatures, the wild tangles of unheard consonants and liquid vowels lifting their spirits and allowing them to settle into a dreamlike state. The Blue-Ringed Kraken’s hissing dissipated into deep, rolling breaths, and Newt pushed all of his fears and worries to the back of his mind as he began his slow, creeping approach to the kraken’s forehead.

 

He did not see the small group of volunteers move from their spot near the tethered lifeboat. He did not expect them to draw their weapons, to shift towards the kraken without any sort of caution or verbal order to do so from the Captain. He certainly didn’t keep his expression blank and comforting when he heard a large pebble skitter across the surface of the islet after a light kick from a sailor’s boot.

 

The poem’s lulling spell was broken in an instant, and the creature began to thrash and screech with revived passion and fury. Newt had no choice but to retreat to the edge of the unsteady islet, following the violent movements of the kraken’s claws and beak with widened eyes. Black claws dug deep, thick gouges into the underlying rocks, and the tentacles that had loosened their hold on the MACUSA suddenly tightened once more.

 

“GET DOWN!”

 

Newt reacted to the enraged shout purely out of instinct, throwing himself onto the ground and covering his head with his arms. The gravel scraped his knees through his trousers and flung into his hair as a dark form threw itself in front of him. Before he could process precisely what was happening, before he even attempt to calm the frightened creature down again, the dark form rushed forward with a ferocious growl.

 

The kraken’s screeching reached a horrifyingly high note before cutting off completely.

 

The sounds of a raging sea bombarded his eardrums in the ensuing quiet, followed shortly after by the hazy shouts of the faraway crew members still aboard the ship. Newt slowly emerged from his shelter of limbs, his entire body trembling with impending dread. Before him stood Captain Graves, his chest heaving with labored breath and a shining silver sword in his right hand. Thick black liquid dripped in an even rhythm from the tip of the blade, and a sickening iron tang mixed with the salt in the air. A cascading stream of the same black liquid pooled in the cracks and scratches on the ground, a steady flow that began from the golden eye now staring lifelessly out at the sea. 

 

The kraken had been vanquished with a single blow.

 

A small noise of pure agony escaped from Newt’s tight throat. The Captain reached into his trouser pocket, snapped a clean, dark handkerchief into the air, and used it to wipe away the blood from his blade. Once the silver glistened clean, he threw the handkerchief to the ground with a disgusted grimace and re-sheathed his sword as he turned to address the distressed magizoologist still shivering on the ground.

 

“I suggest you be a little more careful, Mr. Scamander,” he warned. “Next time, I might not be able to save you.”

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kraken is based on [this](https://gomalemo.tumblr.com/post/159572310912/octopus-dragon) amazing design by the artist Gomalemo. Please go support their art! 
> 
>  
> 
> “Let go of your worries  
> and be completely clear-hearted,  
> like the face of a mirror  
> that contains no images.  
> If you want a clear mirror,  
> behold yourself  
> and see the shameless truth,  
> which the mirror reflects.
> 
> If metal can be polished  
> to a mirror-like finish,  
> what polishing might the mirror  
> of the heart require?  
> Between the mirror and the heart  
> is this single difference:  
> the heart conceals secrets,  
> while the mirror does not.” - Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi


	11. Chapter 11

Newt refused to watch as the crew cut the kraken into pieces.

 

“It’s too big, too heavy to move,” they said.

 

“It’ll be faster this way,” they said.

 

“It’s dead anyway. It’s not like it can feel it,” they said, and that was all that Newt could take before scurrying off to the bowels of the lower decks to hide. Tina had watched him go with a sympathetic frown, keeping her hands clean of the physical desecration but still standing out of the way of those all-too willing to take part. The sickening scrape of metal swords and daggers being drawn followed his retreat, and he doubted that the underlying chuckles that taunted him as he passed were all in his imagination.

 

He stayed shut away in his cabin for the remainder of the day, trying to distract himself with the care of the creatures he kept hidden away in his case. It was pointless, he knew, to mourn a beast he had no real attachment to or history with—if anything, he should be grateful that he got out of the situation with everything still intact, like any reasonable person would.

 

But then, Newt was also self-aware enough to accept that his heart and his reason did not always see eye-to-eye.

 

After cleaning the habitats and feeding his creatures far more slowly and carefully than was necessary, Newt climbed back up the ladder and threw himself onto his cot to stare blindly at the wooden ceiling above him. Jacob and the Goldstein sisters were kind enough to leave him be, even when the distant ring of the dinner bell echoed down the halls. Although his body grumbled at its neglect, the last thing he needed was to walk into the mess and bite his tongue while the crew mocked his poor performance. Jacob had been assigned the night shift, a fact that Newt struggled to deem either a blessing or a curse, and so he remained spread out in a boneless heap as the moon began to peek out among the violet clouds.

 

He would have stayed in that position for much, much longer if a tentative knock had not startled him out of his stupor and frightened a wandering Pickett into the deepest parts of his pockets.

 

A part of him was miffed at having his brooding silence interrupted, while the rest of his attention sparked with curiosity. The knock was quiet, almost afraid, and no other signal or introduction seemed to be forthcoming. With a small sigh, Newt untangled himself from his moping position, braced himself for confrontation or empty platitudes, and opened the door.

 

He was not expecting Credence to be cowering on the other side with a plate of food in his hands, nor had Credence been expecting him to answer if his wide eyes and startled expression was anything to go by.

 

“Hello,” Newt said once the silence stretched into uncomfortable lengths. Credence swallowed, averting his eyes to the floor and holding up the plate.

 

“…I noticed you weren’t at dinner. I thought…” he murmured.

 

“…you brought this for me?” Despite wanting to be alone with his thoughts, Newt couldn’t deny that he was touched. He had barely spoken with Credence since their exchange with the Niffler, and he certainly wouldn’t have labeled them as friends of any sort. And yet, here he was, clearly battling against crippling anxiety and shyness to do something kind for him when nobody else would.

 

“Yes, sir,” Credence said softly.

 

“Oh, call me Newt, please. And thank you! You didn’t have to do that,” Newt said. He took the plate, which was filled with generous amounts of mashed potatoes and small chunks of beef soaked in gravy, with a wide grin. The meal was not as warm as it would have been had he actually attended the serving, but it still somehow managed to smell divine. Credence fidgeted once his hands were free and peeked up at Newt from beneath his crooked fringe of hair.

 

“I’m sorry about the kraken,” he whispered, his voice strained and filled with sorrow. Newt gave him a small smile, graciously surprised at how genuine the young man sounded.

 

“Yes, well...life goes on, I suppose,” he said. He cleared his throat, raising up the plate and trying to smile a bit more cheerful. “Thank you for the food. I really appreciate it, Credence.”

 

The twitching young man jerked his head in the vague resemblance of a nod before scurrying back down the hallway towards the galley. Newt closed the door softly, his spirits undeniably lifted, and sat with crossed legs on his cot to inhale the greasy concoction with embarrassing vigor. It was a simple meal and slightly bland, but Newt couldn’t bring himself to care all that much.

 

Once tiny puddles of gravy were all that remained on the plate, Newt yawned and debated what to do with it. He could easily leave it on the floor beneath his cot and return it in the morning, but there was a small risk of attracting vermin and a much larger risk that Newt would simply erase its existence from his memory and leave it to rot beyond reason. On the other hand, he had the sneaking suspicion that Credence had broken a few rules in bringing him his meal to eat in the cabin, and he didn’t want to get the young man into any trouble by returning it to him in person.

 

And so with a small groan, Newt resigned himself to washing and packing the dishes away himself once the remaining crew members had all retired for the night.

 

Thankfully, he did not have to wait very long, and within an hour had deemed the silent, empty corridors safe for sneaking. He moved quickly, using the shadows to his advantage, and made his way to the galley without incident. He washed the plate and fork under the limited light of the moon, drying and stacking them with the others as best he could and hoping no one would notice. As he made his way back out into the hall, complimenting himself on a mission well-executed, two soft, hushed voices suddenly reached his ears.

 

Despite knowing he wasn’t doing anything that was prohibited, the crippling desire not to be wrangled into human conversation took possession of his common sense and compelled him to throw his body behind the nearest crate under the stairs. He curled himself into a tight ball and slowed his breathing until he was practically silent as the deep voices grew closer.

 

“—got some buyers that would be interested,” an unfamiliar man said, his voice smug and confident.

 

“How much were we able to salvage?” Newt flinched in surprise when he recognized Captain Graves’ soft, gruff speech. It was unusual to see Captain wandering the lower decks so late at night, and certainly without any of his normal posse following close behind.

 

“Plenty. We got more venom than we can store, more skin than we know what to do with,” the stranger replied with a chuckle. “The boys were having a field day! I’m surprised you didn’t join in.”

 

The bitter tang of bile filled Newt’s throat. It was bad enough to imagine the crew simply chopping the kraken into bits and pieces and tossing them into the water below, but it was so much worse to know that they had meticulously picked at the bloody carcass for anything they could sell. No remorse, no respect, and no doubt reveling in their greed as they stained their hands with the innocent creature’s blood.

 

“Keep a few bottles of venom in storage. You never know when it could be useful,” Captain Graves commanded. “I’ll leave you to decide what to do with the rest.” 

 

“And…my fee? Same as always?”

 

“Really, Gnarlack, I had hoped we were passed all this cynicism.”

 

“I am simply making sure we understand each other, _Captain_. No need to be hostile,” the stranger said, his tone dripping with impudence and hubris. The remainder of their conversation was lost to the quiet rocking of the ship as the two men ascended the stairs to the main deck without noticing Newt’s presence among the cargo.

 

Something cold and greasy writhed in his stomach as the pieces of conversation settled over him. Suddenly, everything that Newt thought he knew about his Captain fractured under a growing suspicion—had Captain Graves purposefully provoked the kraken before its slaughter? Who was that mysterious man, this Gnarlack, and what role did he play on the ship? Who were they selling the venom to? And most confusing of all, why would a Captain of the US Navy need to sell kraken venom in the first place?

 

With the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, but powerless to do anything to dissuade it, Newt settled back into his cabin and spent the rest of the night unable to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The first thing that Newt had to do was find out who Gnarlack was. He hadn’t heard the name before, and he foolishly hadn’t peeked at the ship’s roster before or after they set sail. As such, the voice was devoid of a corresponding face within his memory.

 

With little options available to him, Newt eventually gave in and went to find Tina.

 

“Miss Goldstein, I was wondering if you might be able to help me?” he asked, ignoring the whispers that followed him as he accepted his breakfast porridge from the cook and sitting across from the Nereid at their usual table. There were many notable absences in the mess this morning, including Jacob, who was sleeping off his night shift; Queenie, who had come down with a cold and had retired to her room as soon as she had finished eating; and the only male Barebone sibling, who was nowhere in sight.

 

“I can try,” Tina responded. Her expression had softened when Newt had come into view, no doubt because she still pitied him and his reaction to the kraken’s loss. He gritted his teeth against his own protests and assurances, knowing she would be more receptive to his requests if she was in a sympathetic mood.

 

“You know everyone on the ship, right?”

 

“To an extent. Why?”

 

“I overheard someone talking last night, but I didn’t recognize the name,” he whispered. “Who’s Gnarlack?”

 

As he watched, Tina’s face dropped from a curious smile into a disgusted grimace. She glanced around at the surrounding crowd, glaring at any crew member that she caught glancing in their direction. Once she was sure they were not going to be overheard, she leaned forward and beckoned Newt to do the same.

 

“Gnarlack is a goblin who likes to saunter around the ship like he owns the place. You probably won’t see him on a normal day. Mostly he just eavesdrops on everyone to make sure there aren’t any mutinies, and when we make port he likes to go on the mainland to deal with the more… _questionable_ types in town,” she explained. Newt stirred his porridge uneasily.

 

“Why would a well-respected naval Captain keep a dodgy goblin on board? Wouldn’t that hurt his reputation?” Newt wondered aloud. Tina smirked and shook her head.

 

“As much as I disapprove, sometimes it’s handy to have someone who operates outside of the rules,” Tina said. She took a bite of porridge, chewing the thick paste and staring into her bowl. “So long as he doesn’t do anything to endanger the crew, and nobody truly knows what… _deals_ he makes, he’s left alone. Did someone say something about him?”

 

“Let’s just say the topic of discussion wasn’t pleasant, and his name was dropped,” Newt said.

 

“Well, if you can, I would try to stay away from him. You don’t want to be on his bad side, and the Captain can only do so much to help you if you are,” Tina warned quietly.

 

‘ _Unless the Captain isn’t as clean as he pretends to be_ ,’ Newt thought. Still, he nodded in agreement and ate the rest of his breakfast in silence. If this Gnarlack was as bad as Tina claimed him to be, he didn’t want to put her at any unnecessary risk or draw her into any schemes.

 

Of course, that didn’t stop him from wanting to find answers on his own.

 

Due to the kraken’s attack on the ship during its futile attempts at escape, the MACUSA was forced to make port in a private dockyard along the coast of North Carolina for repairs later that day. By a stroke of luck, the ship had not been harmed beyond a few simple cracks and bends along the bow of the ship, and the kind shipwrights promised only a full day’s work to get the MACUSA back to her former glory. The majority of the crew stayed on the docks, hovering and stretching about while trying to keep their sea legs intact.

 

Newt, however, was on a different mission altogether.

 

He wandered the dock separate from the others, keeping his head down but his eyes open and alert. Goblins were often quite easy to spot due to their small stature, exaggerated features, and long fingers and feet. However, Tina’s description had implied that Gnarlack was quite proficient in the art of elusion, and so he had to be on the lookout for any signs of suspicious activity. He watched the shadows as they danced in the blazing sun, leaning against a wooden post with a dripping flask of fresh water between his palms.

 

It took much longer than he had expected, but his patience was eventually rewarded when he saw a smartly dressed figure no taller than his hip swagger around the perimeter of the gathered crew.

 

The goblin’s dark grey suit allowed him to blend in with the officers in similar dress, but his bulking chin and twisted fingers painted a much less sophisticated picture. He paid no heed to those he passed, nor did any of the other crew members seem to notice him go by. Newt took a small sip of water, glancing around at his surroundings before silently excusing himself from the hustle and bustle.

 

It was both easy and nearly impossible for Newt to blend into crowds. On the one hand, he knew that he was rather average in his appearance, particularly among the more informal sailors and ne'er-do-wells that scattered about on the docks. However, when he was tracking an elusive target, the ingrained muscle memories he had acquired in the field tended to take over without his notice. As he followed Gnarlack through the alleyways and backroads leading to the edges of town, he fought to keep his stance upright and forced his feet to step in a direct line, one in front of the other.

 

They walked for about three miles before Gnarlack ducked out of sight into a bustling bar with a faded sign swinging above the door.

 

“ _The Blind Pig_ ,” Newt murmured to himself. “Hm. No worse than _The_ _Three Broomsticks_ , I suppose.”

 

Newt walked passed the open door and around the edge of the building, keeping a careful eye out for any passersby that might block his progress. Some of the windows were open to let in the fresh breeze, the loud clanks of bottle glass spilling out into the air as he followed Gnarlack’s path through the scattered tables of afternoon patrons to the back of the room. The goblin approached a tall, rugged man dressed in black reclining in the dark corner of a booth and tracing patterns lovingly on the side of his beer glass. Newt scurried around the back of the building to crouch underneath the windows, shuffling uncomfortably until he managed to find the one right beside their table.

 

“—always willing to do business with you,” a gravelly voice said, and Newt recognized it almost instantly as the deep rumble he had heard only the night before.

 

“And what do you have for me this time, my friend? More skins? Contraband?” a second voice, most certainly Gnarlack’s potential buyer, whispered. Newt craned his head as far as he could without coming into the view of the other customers, straining his hearing to its limits. 

 

“Oh, sir, you think far too small.”

 

“…a bottle? Am I supposed to recognize that?”

 

“You know as well as I do that it’s what’s _inside_ the bottle that counts. Tell me…how often do you get offered a supply of pure Blue-Ringed Kraken venom?”  

 

Newt bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. He had been expecting something like this, of course, but hearing the confirmation of his fears was far worse than he had imagined it would feel. Just how many bottles had they filled before chopping up the rest of the kraken for its parts?

 

“You’re lying,” the buyer hissed. “That’s impossible to get. Nobody goes up against a kraken like that and survives.”

 

“A mindless kraken is no match for Gellert Grindelwald.”

 

Newt’s smoldering anger died in an instant.

 

The sounds of the bar faded into a ringing white noise, with only the echo of Gnarlack’s smug proclamation reaching Newt’s ears. Air refused to enter his lungs, and starved for precious oxygen, his heart began to race at tremendous speeds. Satisfaction and security was nothing but a distant memory, and an invisible force crushed him from every possible direction.

 

It couldn’t be!

 

Gellert Grindelwald, the most feared pirate in Europe and America alike!

 

And Gnarlack claimed he had killed the kraken…which meant that…

 

“I know he’s fearless, but a Blue-Ringed Kraken? That’s suicide!”

 

“And yet, we’re still sailing along our merry way, and the kraken is in pieces at the bottom of the sea.”

 

“He killed it?” the buyer gasped, his voice equally horrified and impressed.

 

“Stuck his sword right through its eye,” Gnarlack said. Newt covered his mouth as he gagged on the sick truth sinking into his brain. “We’re offering you three bottles worth. That should last you about a year, if you’re smart about it. Should fetch quite a pretty price on the street.”

 

“And…what is _your_ price, my friend? If what you say is true—” The buyer’s comment cut off instantly, and Newt did not have to move from his spot to imagine how Gnarlack’s face had probably contorted into something ghastly and furious.

 

“You were saying? My friend?” Gnarlack growled. The buyer did not respond, but Gnarlack apparently did not expect him to. “I trade in secrets, but I do not lie about this. If I say Grindelwald killed this beast, then he did. If I say this is Blue-Ringed Kraken venom, then it is. I do not offer these things to just anyone…but of course, if you’re not interested, I’ll find someone _else_ to deal with.”

 

“I meant no offense, sir,” the buyer whispered. “…how much?”

 

Newt fled as silently as his trembling body would allow. He kept his pace at a brisk walk, slinking along on the edge of the streets and in between tall brick buildings as his mind raced in a thousand directions. He didn’t even feel the sweat dripping down his back or the dull ache tingling up and down his calves as he made his way back to the docks.

 

Grindelwald.

 

Captain Graves was Gellert Grindelwald, that was the only way it all made sense.

 

The cold response to Newt’s interaction with the sea serpent, the almost professional slaying of the kraken, the late night whispers with Gnarlack—all this combined with the conversation he had just overheard, and Newt could think of nothing else that fit so perfectly. For how long had Percival Graves been living a double life? Who else knew of his treason, of his illegal dealings on the side of his official naval duties? How had he managed to get away with such a plot for so long?

 

‘ _My creatures!_ ’ Newt thought, his entire body overwhelmed with panic. ‘ _I have to get them out! I have to warn the others!_ ’

 

But would they honestly believe him? What true evidence did he have, other than a conversation nobody else heard and a small pile of events that could easily be explained away by logic and excuses? Perhaps he could convince Jacob to take his chances off of the MACUSA, but he doubted that Tina would be so quick to trust him. Queenie would read his thoughts, sure, but would that be enough for either of the sisters to throw their entire lives away in an instant?

 

‘ _I’ll have to take that risk! It’s too dangerous! We have to—_ ’

 

“Mr. Scamander!” Newt almost pitched face-first onto the ground with a start, righting his footing just in time to gasp and spin around. Captain Graves stood almost face-to-face with the gulping magizoologist, his eyes squinted against the bright sunlight. “Are you alright? You seem…upset.”

 

“Ah, Captain! Yes, yes, I’m alright!” Newt yelped. Graves’ eyes narrowed, scanning Newt’s body up and down with a deep frown. “Uh, you’ll have to excuse me. Still, uh—recovering from the—the kraken incident.”

 

“…I see,” Graves muttered, his tone oddly flat and soft. After a moment’s pause, the frown suddenly rose into a tight smirk. “Well, I am sorry it had to end that way. Your attempts were admirable, but the safety of my crew comes first. I’m sure you understand.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Newt said quietly, trying to keep his fidgeting to a minimum.

 

His first instinct was to run away to safety, to get as far away from this lying viper as soon as possible. However, his suitcase was still hidden away in his cabin, and he couldn’t abandon it to the crew’s mercy. If his theory was correct, if this man truly was Grindelwald, who knew what horrible fates he would bestow upon each of the innocent creatures inside once he got his hands on them. Besides, despite his normal aversion to human relationships, he had grown quite fond of Jacob and the sisters, and he ached at the sheer thought of leaving them behind without any sort of warning.

 

“The shipwrights are almost finished. I suggest you get yourself settled again in before we set sail,” Captain Graves said calmly. Newt swallowed against the dryness on his tongue, nodding in defeat before forcing himself to turn and walk slowly up the gangplank of the USS MACUSA.

 

He tried to ignore the feeling of dark eyes on his back the entire way.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Credence doubted that he would ever sleep soundly again. It was one thing to hear the calm, churning choirs of the ocean through the walls of the ship—it was another to be bombarded with the horrifying screams of a large predator being ambushed and murdered by the Humans keeping the Selkie captive.

 

At first, Credence had managed to keep himself focused on finishing his duties in the kitchen despite the warning growls that bubbled up from beneath his feet. In the end, however, his latent instinct to flee took complete control when the kraken breached the surface, and he abandoned his post at the sink to hide away in his tiny room with his hands pressed against his ears to the point of agony. His entire body shuddered as the kraken’s screams turned fearful and outraged, the ship rocking like a bobbing toy in a tub as the kraken fought to sink them all.

 

Modesty, normally so fearless and inquisitive, had surprised Credence by throwing open the door and practically pleading with her eyes that he allow her to hide with him. He managed to force his arms open enough to coax her into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms protectively around her tight blonde braids as they curled up together on his tiny bed.

 

“What is that, Credence?” she whispered.

 

“A kraken. It’s a large monster with tentacles and a beak.”  Nobody knew about his true nature except the Captain, but Modesty was a very good observer when she wanted to be and sensed that he had a special connection to the sea. While he could never tell her specifically what he was, the curse did not stop him from educating her about everything else they encountered.

 

“Will it kill us?”

 

“…it can. It’ll try,” he said truthfully.

 

“Do you think Mr. Scamander can control it?”

 

“I don’t know.” A part of him wanted to hope that he could, that the man’s strange gift with magical creatures would save them all and drive the kraken away. But unlike most of the sea creatures that Credence could communicate with, krakens were true monsters. They did not Speak, did not try to respect the smaller lifeforms sharing their home, and preferred to use their size and venom to hunt and torture anything that got in their way.

 

What hope did one tiny Human have against such a beast?

 

They stayed silent and shivering for a few endless minutes, waiting for any sign that they were either free or had arrived at death’s door. And then, suddenly, the pressure building in Credence’s head eased into a dull whisper and the ship grew still—the quiet eye in the center of an angry hurricane. It was almost too easy, too good to be true, and so they had no choice but to cling to one another until a sign of safety presented itself.

 

It almost wasn’t a surprise when the violent rocking started up again.

 

Modesty released a small cry, tightening her grip on Credence’s jacket and burying her face into his chest. He wished that he could offer her peace, or some kind of assurance that they would make it out alive, but it was difficult to encourage others to have hope when yours had burned to ashes so long ago. The incessant screaming resumed, stabbing into every dark corner of his mind and filling his every pore with fear.

 

And then everything stopped in an instant.

 

The silence was more damning than any sound the kraken had forced upon him, a sudden deafness that sucked the life out of everything around them. There was no more screaming, no more movement…no more signs of life at all. Credence gasped in horror as a cold sense of dread spread through his very bones.

 

“Credence? What’s wrong?” Modesty whimpered, her dark eyes wet with worry. Credence felt his own tears building, the restless darkness within pulsing with grief as the sea became so much emptier.

 

“It’s dead,” he croaked. His eyes closed and his lips grew tight as he held back a whimper of pain.

 

It was almost funny, how so many mindless animals gave their lives each day so that others may survive, and yet the deaths of creatures with an abundance of magic always affected the rest of them so profoundly. A part of him was relieved to have escaped with his life, and yet he couldn’t help but feel a gaping emptiness open up within his soul.

 

“It’s okay, Credence,” Modesty said softly. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, offering what little solace she could. He returned the sentiment with a small sniff, and it was a long while before they managed to build enough courage to move from their tiny sanctuary and back into the kitchens to help with the dinner preparations.

 

For the first time since Credence’s arrival on the MACUSA, Mary Lou did not punish them for the abandonment of their posts. Most likely, she had been just as terrified of the ‘Devil’s work’ as they had been, and realized that any criticism would make her a hypocrite to her teachings and her faith. Dinner was more subdued than usual, with many dragging their feet along the line and preferring to keep the conversations among themselves limited and quiet. When they did deem a discussion necessary, however, the vast majority of the crew seemed to focus on Mister Scamander and his failed attempt to keep the kraken under control for as long as they had expected.

 

“He looked like he was gonna cry!”

 

“Guess he’s not as good as he thinks he is.”

 

“I would’ve just killed it without all the fancy talking. Less of a mess all around, if you ask me.”

 

As the mocking filtered in, Credence slowly began to see a series of events forming within his imagination. He saw Mister Scamander and his futile attempts to get everybody, Human and kraken, out of the mess alive with a calm smile and gentle hand. He could imagine Mister Scamander’s sun-kissed face as he tried to sooth the vicious beast thrashing among the waves. His slowly dying adrenaline began to smolder anew as he realized how shamelessly the other crew members ridiculed Mister Scamander’s attempts to save all of their lives, and it pained him to see that the British man was nowhere to be found among the masses all throughout dinner that night.

 

While Captain Graves had ordered him to avoid Mister Scamander if he was able, Credence had also been ordered by Mary Lou all those years ago to ensure that each crew member was properly fed. This weak loophole, combined with his festering anger and grief, was what ultimately led the Selkie to snatch an empty plate and fill it with food while Mary Lou and his adopted sisters were busy cleaning up at the end of dinner that night. He knew what pain awaited him when the cook inevitably realized that he was missing and saw him return, but he found that he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

 

The soft look of gratitude that Mister Scamander bestowed upon him was more than worth the lashes.

 

As further punishment for his disobedience, Credence was put to work loading and organizing the crates of fresh food supplies Mary Lou and the officers had purchased at the docks the next day. Nobody was allowed to assist him, and it took many long hours to stack them in neat towers while holding back the tears that sprung to his eyes whenever he moved. The stinging cuts across his palms and fingers grew red and puffy as they scraped against the rough wooden edges of the crates. Sharp stabs of pain shot up and down his arms, and his breath grew shallow and shrill as he dropped the last one to the ground with a ringing bang.

 

He was just about to pick it up again when a hurried shuffling suddenly approached from behind him. Credence flinched back away from the noise, cautiously raising his eyes and releasing a sigh of relief when he realized that it was simply Mister Scamander returning to the ship.

 

The man seemed more upset than he had yesterday, with wide eyes staring at nothing and a tense hunch to his shoulders. Credence silently wondered if the loss of the kraken was finally sinking in for the poor researcher as he leaned forward without thinking and jabbed his hand on the corner of the crate he had dropped. Fire claimed his entire awareness as he yanked his hand back with a cry, cradling the appendage against his chest and fighting back more traitorous tears.

 

“Are you alright there, Credence?” a soft voice asked, and the young Selkie was shocked to find Mister Scamander at his side. His throat closed up against his automatic protests as the British man’s eyes took him in, no doubt seeing every betraying twitch and hidden wound on his body. Long, gentle fingers speckled with their own scatter of scars reached forward and coaxed his hands open to reveal the bleeding cuts beneath.

 

“Bloody hell!” Mister Scamander gasped in horror.

 

“It’s nothing, sir,” Credence pleaded, finally finding his voice in the presence of such needless empathy in the other’s crystal green eyes. “It’s fine.”

 

The British man looked at him with such pain, such selfless misery, that Credence almost threw himself up the stairs and over the railing to drown. Even Captain Graves had never looked at him that way—like he was something precious that deserved so much better than the torment he was living. Mister Scamander stared at the wounds in silence, biting his lower lip before haltingly leaning forward and whispering gently into Credence’s ear.

 

“Do you mind if I heal this for you?” he asked, his eyes twitching back and forth between a spot on Credence’s cheek and the hands he now held so softly in his own. “Just so they’re not so open. It’ll make your work go faster.”

 

“…how?” Credence whimpered in confusion. In response, the crooked smile that Mister Scamander often donned when he believed that nobody was looking spread across his face. He tipped his head towards the cabin doors, releasing Credence’s hands and gently touching his shoulder.

 

“Follow me,” he said. The pinpoints of heat on Credence’s shoulder grew brisk and cold when Mister Scamander withdrew his hand, leaving the young Selkie feeling painfully hollow. A disapproving screech sounding far too much like Mary Lou for his own comfort rang in earnest within Credence’s brain, and yet he found himself drawn forward by the light flutter within his chest. He should have been afraid of how easily his body fell under Mister Scamander’s spell, how the echoing remnants of the orders Captain Graves had given him fell practically silent.

 

Credence stopped just outside the cabin door, peering inside the tiny room as Mister Scamander retrieved a battered brown suitcase from beneath his bed. Once he had set it gently on the opposing cot, the British man rolled up his shirt sleeves and turned to smile in Credence’s direction.

 

“Come on in. I don’t bite, I promise,” he said, reaching over and patting the thin bedsheets invitingly. The silent Selkie swallowed his anxiety as best he could and shuffled into the cabin while keeping his arms and head tucked as closely to his center as possible. He sat on the edge of the bed as Mister Scamander opened up the suitcase and reached inside, rummaging around in its contents while muttering soft nothings seemingly to himself.

 

“Blast it all, where did I put that thing? I know it’s—come on, where—” In a move so shocking that Credence’s eyes practically bulged out of their sockets, the British man’s upper body disappeared beyond what should have been humanly possible into the case, his waist swaying slightly as he raised himself up onto his toes. Credence felt his cheeks flare with heat as his eyes fell unwillingly to the distracting sight of a pert, tightly clad pair of buttocks waving side-to-side in front of him.

 

‘ _Stop it! Don’t look don’t look don’t—it’s fine! It’s FINE! There’s no reason for you to be thinking impure thoughts, he’s just—NO! No, no, no no no no! Look away! Look away!_ ’  

 

“AHA! Here we are! This should fix you up quite nicely.” Mister Scamander emerged from the suitcase with a flourish, triumphantly holding up a small rectangular vial filled with a clear fluid. Credence quickly averted his eyes to his clenched hands, the shallow cuts swelling with fresh blood from the force he had unknowingly been inflicting upon them. Desperately attempting to suppress his blush, Credence held his breath as Mister Scamander closed the lid of his case, went to his knees before him, and gently took his right hand into his steady left.

 

“What is it?” Credence asked, his voice wavering with fading mortification and rising trepidation.

 

The vial was raised to chapped lips, and the cork stopper was roughly removed between two perfect rows of white teeth and spat away with a small popping sound. Mister Scamander gently tipped the vial over onto the skin of Credence’s palm, a cool stream running over burning coals. Credence couldn’t hold back his small whimper as the liquid seeped into his cuts, watching captivated as small wisps of white steam flowed up into the air in front of his face. It was as if the cuts were disintegrating, the skin slowly scarring over and molding themselves into raised bumps as the steam disappeared.

 

“A healing potion. It’s made from Phoenix tears—that’s why it’s so cold,” Mister Scamander explained. Despite his obvious discomfort when he was around other people, there was an ease to the way the man spoke to Credence. His shoulders slouched and leaned just slightly forward, a small but obvious softness as he applied his magic potion to every wound he saw. Credence swallowed back the sudden tightness that threatened to cut off his precious oxygen, keeping his eyes glued to the almost empty vial moving over his flesh.

 

“You didn’t have to,” he whispered.

 

“It’s no trouble, really.”

 

“You should have saved it for someone else. Someone worth—” Credence bit back the rest of that thought, fear and helplessness twisting his chest into knots as Mister Scamander’s movements stopped completely.

 

He was so stupid, letting his melancholy override his common sense, and now the only Human who had ever shown him true kindness would see him for the pathetic whelp he really was!

 

“…that’s the thing about me, though,” Mister Scamander said slowly, continuing to drip the healing potion over Credence’s hands as though nothing had happened. “I believe every creature, Human or otherwise, is worth my help every now and then. Most people seem to disagree with me on that point, but…”

 

“Like with the kraken?” Credence asked, his mind rejecting the very notion that he would be worth anything at all to this vibrant embodiment of sunshine and making him change the subject to the first thing that he could think of. The British man’s lips tightened and his shoulders slumped even further, his eyes glazing over and his fingers trembling around the vial still in his grip. Credence grew worried as the seconds stretched on. “…Mister Scamander?”

 

“Huh? Oh, yes, right,” he said distractedly, blinking in rapid beats as he moved to retrieve the cork stopper from the floor and put the vial away.

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Credence said, desperate to banish the dark cloud that he had unintentionally summoned with his careless remarks. “They just don’t understand. Krakens are more combative than most. It’s in their nature to attack anything they think is challenging them…but that doesn’t mean they deserve to die.” 

 

Mister Scamander turned to stare at him, his eyes wide and his mouth dropped open in shock. Credence swallowed back his apologies, praying to any of the sea gods that might have spared him even a passing glance that he would not say anything else offensive. It was bad enough that Mister Scamander had wasted his potion, as well as his precious time, but now he was being forced to hear a bumbling tirade of useless thoughts from a loquacious nitwit! Verbal silence mixed with the fading sounds of shouting workers and ringing hammers, before a quick blink from the older man broke the spell.

 

“I…yes, I think you’re right. You know about krakens?” Mister Scamander asked. Credence shifted uncomfortably, reaching for the excuse he always gave when someone grew too curious of his extensive knowledge of the sea.

 

“I like sea creatures. But I’m not an expert like you,” he whispered. The British man knelt in front of him again, his freckled cheeks slightly red from what Credence could only assume was the heat of the cramped space. Before he could open his mouth to ask any more questions, however, the survival instinct that the Selkie had been suppressing finally became too much for him to handle. “I’m sorry, sir, but I should really get back to work.”

 

“Oh! Uh, yes, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to keep you.” Mister Scamander leaned back to give him the space to stand, running a hand through his copper curls and chuckling quietly to himself. Credence hesitated on his way out the door, turning slightly and hiding the majority of his face behind his shoulder before speaking.

 

“Thank you for the potion…and for everything else.”

 

He purposefully did not look at Mister Scamander’s face as he retreated back to the crates, his face now burning and his hands as cold as ice.


	13. Chapter 13

 

Newt’s philosophy in life was a simple one: Worrying means you suffer twice.

 

He preferred to live in the moment, never allowing himself to become so busy watching out for what was just ahead of him that he didn’t take the time to enjoy where he was. He’d never really been bothered by the idea that he couldn’t relate well to other people—it simply wasn’t something he allowed himself to dwell on or cared to remedy. Which was why, after being forced back onto the USS MACUSA, he was so horrified to find himself almost crippled by his desire to get so many human beings to safety along with his suitcase full of beasts.

 

Jacob was an obvious choice, with the Goldstein sisters following in a close second. After only a moment’s hesitation, Newt decided that he should at least attempt to convince Credence and his sisters to leave with them as well. The wounds on his hands were clearly the result of a heinous act of abuse, and the sight of the innocent boy’s pain had practically broken Newt’s heart. Moreover, he found himself slightly smitten with Credence’s surprising love for sea creatures, and he felt that it would be a crime to leave the boy on a ship owned and ruled by a man who saw the same creatures as nothing but playthings and profit.

 

The issue, of course, was how the magizoologist was going to convince any of these people that he was telling the truth.

 

He spent the two days following their short time at port thinking of different ways to expose the Captain for who he really was, brainstorming through simple plans of espionage to elaborate break-ins of the Captain’s quarters to find incriminating documents. He ultimately decided against such drastic measures, if only because he was not convinced he could pull it off without assistance.

 

Despite his hesitations, however, the weight of the truth eventually became too much for him to carry alone.

 

“I was wondering...if I could talk to you for a bit?” Newt asked, touching Jacob’s arm as they moved as a pair away from the dispersing crowds in the mess hall.

 

“Uh, sure. What’s up?” Newt did not answer straight away, leading the confused baker to a secluded spot across the ship and out of earshot from any of the cabins. The British man took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of his coat and searching the shadows for any movement or hidden spies. Finding no obvious signs of eavesdroppers, he forced himself to look Jacob in the eye and confess his concern aloud.

 

“This is going to sound mad, but…I have reason to believe that Captain Graves is not who he says he is,” Newt whispered. Jacob’s eyebrows rose, eyeing Newt’s anxious fidgeting and constant glancing over their shoulders.

 

“Wha—uh, ok, then who is he really?”

 

“...Gellert Grindelwald.”

 

“...who’s that?” Jacob asked, his face scrunched up in confusion. Newt paused, both surprised that the name did not sound familiar to the baker and disappointed in himself that he did not expect as much.

 

“He’s a pirate. One of the most feared pirates in Europe and America, and I overheard one of his lackeys making some illegal deals with the kraken venom,” Newt explained. Jacob stared at him incredulously, prompting Newt to peddle back defensively. “I know! I know it sounds ridiculous, but I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t sure it was true.”

 

“Why _are_ you telling me all this?”

 

“...I’m telling you because I like you. Because you’re my friend, and I don’t want to see you get hurt, Jacob,” Newt said, his throat swelling with emotion as he realized just how true that statement really was. Jacob’s eyes grew wide and glossy as Newt’s declaration sank in, but Newt did not give him time to respond. “If Graves finds out that I know his secret, I don’t know what will happen. I’m worried he might come after you and the girls to get to me!”

 

“Can’t we tell someone? Report him?”

 

“It’ll be my word against his,” Newt argued. “I’m trying to find some more evidence, but I wanted you to be on your guard.”

 

With nothing else to do about his troublesome situation, Newt sighed and motioned for Jacob to follow him as they made their way back to their cabin. He would have to warn Tina and Queenie at a later time, preferably somewhere secluded and secret. He had not seen Gnarlack since he had boarded the ship in North Carolina, but that certainly did not mean that the goblin wasn’t lurking in the shadows listening for any signs of mutiny.

 

As they walked down the creaking hallways, Newt was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice when Jacob suddenly stopped short.

 

“Uh—Newt!” the baker cried, his voice deep with trepidation. The magizoologist looked back at his frozen friend, only to find a shaking finger pointing down the hall in front of them. Newt followed Jacob’s finger and allowed his eyes to fall to the end of the hall next to their open cabin door.

 

His suitcase sat flat on the floor, its lid wide open and a gentle golden glow emitting from its depths.

 

Newt’s lungs seized in horror as he dashed forward and threw himself onto the floor beside his case. A gentle symphony of roars and warbles reached his ears, and he wasted no time before skipping down the stairs into his shed and bursting through the door. He vaguely heard Jacob calling his name, but he was far too focused on running through each and every habitat, counting and calling with each struggling breath. Frank was screeching among violent storm clouds, warning Newt of an unseen danger but unable to tell him precisely what was to come. The Graphrons, Nundu, Mooncalves, and all of the aquatic creatures were accounted for, but Newt was devastated to see that the Niffler, the Erumpent, an Occamy, and his precious Demiguise were nowhere to be found.

 

“Dougal!” Newt called desperately, knowing in his heart that the Demiguise would not answer and was not simply using his invisibility to play a sick prank on his keeper. Unable to deny the obvious truth any longer, he ran back towards the shed and vaulted his body up through the exit where Jacob stood waiting.

 

“What’s wrong?” Jacob demanded.

 

“Some of them are missing!” Newt said, running a hand absently through his ruffled hair and peering into his room just in case any of his smaller charges happened to follow his scent and hide in his bed. Just as he was about to look more thoroughly, however, a large crash echoed through the planks above them. Newt and Jacob stared at one another for a long moment before Newt slammed his case shut and ran back the way they’d come. “I need to go! We have to find everyone who’s escaped before they get hurt!”

 

“You don’t think they’ll try to kill them, do you?”

 

Newt could not bring himself to answer, allowing the heavy silence to speak for itself.

 

As they reached the top of the stairs on the main deck, utter chaos unfolded before their eyes. Crew members and officers alike scurried up the ratlines in an attempt to escape the large, robust Erumpent meandering in circles around the railings of the ship. Her molten horn glowed in the shadows of the night, the planks beneath her hooves creaking distressingly every time she moved. Other sailors were cowering from the thrashing Occamy, who had grown ten times her normal size in an attempt to fit the open space of the surrounding sky. Her feathered wings were not yet developed enough to carry her more than a few feet into the air, and her thick blue tail sent a multitude of unsuspecting barrels flying into the waters below as she shrieked at the few humans brave enough to try and wrangle her into a corner of the ship.

 

Newt was surprised to see Dougal scurrying along the railing beside the Occamy, keeping himself out of the reach of the crew while still attempting to calm her down.

 

Newt was not surprised to see the Niffler hopping and scampering underfoot the distressed humans in search of anything he could grab for his hoard.

 

“Mr. Scamander!” Newt bit back a groan as Tina ran to his side, her face red with exertion and her eyes wide with fear. “What did you do?”

 

“Don’t panic! There’s absolutely nothing to worry about!” he cried, grabbing Jacob’s arm when he made it up the stairs. “Get the Erumpent’s attention and lure her in my direction! She’ll recognize you!”

 

“Wha—”

 

“Tina, I need you to find an insect!” Newt said, ignoring her skeptical stare in favor of pushing Jacob in the direction of the Erumpent and lugging his case over towards the Occamy. “Any kind of insect—and a teapot! Find a teapot!”

 

He brushed past the few straggling sailors running around in a panic, ignoring their cries and bending down slowly in front of the Occamy with his hands held up and his coat pooling around his legs. The Occamy caught sight of him and stopped her panicked thrashing, craning her neck down in curiosity as her thick tail coiled behind her.

 

“Shh, Mummy’s here,” Newt coaxed. The Occamy warbled at his familiar voice, but the peaceful reprieve did not last long. An unseen crew member moved far too swiftly behind Newt’s back in an attempt to escape the madness, startling the young Occamy back into her frenzy. Newt grabbed the handle of his suitcase, throwing himself over the Occamy’s back as she swooped around and fluttered her way across the main deck. He tried to comfort her with gentle, soothing motions across her scales but found her far too immersed in her own survival instinct to fight and flee.

 

“Teapot!” a voice suddenly cried, and Newt was relieved to see Tina and a worried Queenie hurdling up the steps from the lower deck and vaulting across a coiling mass of Occamy tail. In one hand, the older Nereid held a white china teapot with painted floral designs, no doubt borrowed from Queenie’s side of their cabin, and in the other she held a wriggling cockroach. She skidded to a stop directly in front of the Occamy’s face, freezing with trepidation as wide yellow eyes locked onto the cockroach and the serpentine body before her suddenly grew still.

 

Newt peered around the Occamy’s head and nodded to the empty teapot.

 

“Roach in teapot…” he whispered. Tina nodded, removing the lid between her pinkie and her palm and then slowly raising the cockroach to ensure that the Occamy followed its journey. She dropped the insect down into the open pot as Newt threw himself flat onto the deck. The Occamy reared upwards with outstretched wings, truly a majestic sight, before diving down headfirst towards the open pot. Queenie screamed as Tina lowered her head, bracing herself for a hit by a tremendous force, and held out the teapot in a shaking hand as the Occamy shrank back to its original size and coiled itself around the cockroach inside.

 

“Tina, the lid!” Newt cried, and Tina barely hesitated before slamming the lid onto the pot. A soft crunching noise from within the teapot reached their ears, and after a brief moment of silent, heavy breathing, all three of their lips curled up in wide smiles.

 

“Occamies are choranaptyxic. They grow and shrink to fill available space,” he explained, prompting a small chuckle from the exasperated nymphs.

 

“NEWT!”

 

The magizoologist turned with a start, finding poor Jacob clinging to the main-mast as high as he was able to climb and desperately trying to avoid the Erumpent’s wiggling tongue. Newt winced as she reared up onto her hind legs and attempted to find purchase on the thick trunk of the mast, only for her flat front hooves to slip off and come crashing down on the deck with a loud bang. The planks barely held, shaking with the force of impact and threatening to break apart if he didn’t retrieve her quickly.

 

While his creature’s attention was stolen by the screaming baker, Newt left Tina crouched on the deck with her teapot and ran up behind the Erumpent with his case in hand. He forced all other thoughts from his mind, filling his entire brain with nothing but images of broad open plains, vibrant green trees and rippling water holes. As the tingling warmth of the case’s magic made its presence known, he snapped open his case with both hands and pressed its open surface against the Erumpent’s wiggling backside.

 

As if in the center of a powerful typhoon, the Erumpent’s body was sucked back into the entrance of the case, impossibly swallowed by the fairy’s magic and deposited back into her sunny habitat deep inside.

 

“All right, Jacob?” Newt called breathlessly, smashing the lid and bottom of the case together to ensure the Erumpent did not try to escape again. A weary, high-pitched groan was his only answer. The Goldstein sisters hurried over to Newt’s side, with Tina carefully keeping the lid of the teapot tight and snug as she offered it to him with a relieved smile. Newt closed his eyes, thinking of the bamboo nest where his other Occamies lay before gently opening his case and allowing Tina to look inside.

 

The opening of the case revealed four slithering, chittering Occamies, all staring up expectantly at the magical portal that had suddenly opened up above their heads. Tina stared in wonder before slowly inching the teapot forward, removing the lid, and pouring the escaped Occamy back into a small pile of hay and dirt within the nest. The others welcomed their sibling back home with a chorus of chitters and hisses, curling around one another and nipping at each other’s tails.

 

Before Newt could move to close the lid once more, a light tugging on his coat sleeve caught his attention. Tina gasped in surprise as Dougal suddenly appeared out of thin air, holding up a familiar black ball of wriggling fluff for Newt to see.

 

“Oh! Thank you, Dougal! You caught him!” Newt shifted the portal over to Dougal’s nest, and gently deposited both Demiguise and unwilling Niffler back into the case.

 

“Tell me the truth—was that everything that came out of the case?” Tina asked breathlessly. Newt smiled at her, caressing the faded leather of his case in relief. 

 

“That’s everything. And that is the truth,” he promised.

 

As Jacob joined them back on the ground, soft, apprehensive whispers slowly rose in volume and intensity—a growing buzz of anger and fear that cut into Newt’s very core. Scattered sailors melded together into a throng of hungry predators seeking someone to blame, someone to curse, and Newt was not foolish enough to ignore how easy of a target he was. Even though he had not been the one to release them, and would certainly never purposefully put anyone in harm’s way, it was his case full of creatures that had been the cause of such mayhem.

 

As Newt slowly rose from his crouch, he placed the case by his side and silently awaited the verbal lashes he knew he would receive. Before the crew could even begin their bloodshed, however, a furious voice rang out above the others.

 

“Langdon, impound that case!” The young Boatswain dove for the handle with a stunning vigor, swinging the case up into his arms and jogging over to the Captain’s side with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. Caught completely off guard, Newt’s panic doubled instantly, and he attempted to follow his case with an outreached hand purely out of instinct.

 

“No! Give that b—”

 

“Restrain him!” Newt’s arms were grabbed roughly by the large, iron hands of two nearby sailors. They forced the magizoologist back from where the case was being handed to the Captain, his shoulder blades protesting against the constraint and his violent attempts to break away. Unable to get free by his own strength, Newt desperately tried to plead with any sense of mercy that the Captain may have had left.

 

“No! Don’t hurt those creatures! Please, you don’t understand—nothing in there is dangerous, nothing!” he cried.

 

“We will be the judges of that, Mr. Scamander,” Captain Graves said, the handle of the case held in a tight fist and his free hand running over the battered edges almost lovingly. “I know you have a special connection with all creatures, but this was extremely reckless—even for you. You have put everyone on this ship at great risk.”

 

A murmur of agreement arose from the mob encircling them, and Newt could only shake his head in protest. 

 

“I wasn’t—”

 

“I overlooked the incident with the Niffler, because you claimed it was a simple, harmless accident. I assume that setting a pack of dangerous creatures loose on deck was just _another accident_ , is that right?” he asked, his tone full of disappointment and enmity. Out of the surrounding crowd, Newt was shocked to see Tina step forward with a pleading expression and outstretched hands.

 

“Captain Graves—” she said softly, clearly attempting to defend Newt’s honor. Before she could get any further, however, the Captain threw her a warning look that implied a punishment far more severe than any demotion she could conceive if she continued to speak. The other crew members followed his lead, all eyes turning hard and cold in her direction. Under their harsh scrutiny, her face turned pink and fearful as she lowered her head and stepped back into line.

 

“Whatever your expertise, the safety of my crew comes first. This cannot go unpunished,” Graves said. He took a deep breath, sighing seemingly in defeat and shaking his head. “You will be taken to the brig—”

 

“You can’t—”

 

“—where you will remain until we make port back in New York. After that, Admiral Picquery will be informed of your misconduct, and your sentence will be decided by her council.” The Captain nodded to the sailors holding Newt between them. “Take him below.”

 

The two men did not hesitate, dragging him forward through the gathered mass of disgusted face and jeering smirks. Tina, Queenie, and Jacob were the only ones to look horrified at the Captain’s words as they stood powerless to help him, their eyes wet and their jaws nearly to the floor. All sense of bravery and anger gave way to fear and desperation with every step Newt was forced to take away from his precious creatures, and he shamelessly thrashed against his captors as his screams echoed across the open sky.

 

“Don’t hurt those creatures—there is nothing in there that’s dangerous! Please don’t hurt my creatures! Please, they’re not dangerous!”

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

The brig was a small, damp box consisting of steel bars and a locked, hinged door sitting just above the waterline on the lower deck. It was hidden behind towers of stacked crates and barrels, with the only light source a solitary porthole sitting at eye level opposite the entrance. Small piles of dusty straw littered the floor to combat the chill, which Newt became intimately acquainted with when his two escorts threw him roughly to the ground and slammed the door shut behind him.

 

With his heart beating erratically within his chest, the magizoologist could do nothing but pace around the tiny cell and mumble horrified gibberish to the empty air. Eventually, he finally lost all of his pent up energy and slumped down on the single plank bench pushed up against the side of the ship. The creaking and moaning of the surrounding boards were a constant bane to his limited sanity, wearing down on his nerves as the shadows twisted and climbed across the floor.

 

How long had he been locked away so far? How long had his suitcase been at the mercy of that lying, immoral fugitive parading around his authority like a pompous peacock? How could he not have seen this retaliation coming?!

 

And most importantly, what was he going to do now?

 

“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Scamander.”

 

The smothering cold of the brig grew bitter as Newt raised his head and glared at the source of his misery. Captain Graves leaned forward against the bars of the prison, his dark eyes appraising in a way that Newt would almost call impressed. His naval uniform remained pressed and polished like any model officer, but the menacing smirk he wore was anything but honorable.

 

“The sea has been my life for years, more than I care to admit. And yet, no matter how many seem to try, none have ever been as much of a nuisance as you,” he murmured. Newt ground his teeth together, attempting to hide the concern for his creatures behind a mask of anger. “What _were_ you thinking, bringing all of those beasts on board? It was only a matter of time before they all got out.”

 

“I did _not_ let them out!” Newt growled. 

 

“Oh, I know,” the Captain said, his tone soothing and his head tilted to the side. Newt’s eyes widened in shock and the sea continued to roar in the distance. “…did you really think you could sneak by Gnarlack so easily? For an expert in magical creatures, you don’t seem to know much about goblins, Mr. Scamander.”

 

Newt’s body rose from the bench of its own accord. He approached the Captain with clenched fists, but the older man’s confidence did not falter in the slightest. They stared at one another in silence, both of their eyes narrowed and calculating.

 

“So you admit it, then?”

 

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

 

“Don’t play coy, _Captain_. It doesn’t suit you.”

 

“And don’t act smart, Mr. Scamander, you’re not fooling anyone.”

 

“…what I don’t understand,” Newt said through gritted teeth, “is what the point of all this is. Why the facade? Why the double life? Doesn’t it get _exhausting_?”

 

Graves paused as if to think, his smirk never losing its intensity or its vicious edge.

 

“Tell me, Mr. Scamander, why do you think pirates exist? What is the allure of such a life?” he asked. Newt swallowed, unsure of what twisted logic he was being fed or why.

 

“Money? Freedom?”

 

“Money can be earned legally. Freedom can be taken away,” Graves said, leaning in so that their faces were inches apart. “But power…oh, power comes in so many forms. What could be better for someone who seeks power than a life without laws, without borders, without anyone capable of stopping them?”

 

Newt watched as the ice in Graves’ eyes melted against a growing flame, a small flicker of molten hysteria that threatened to consume them all.

 

“But power can be stolen,” Newt argued. Graves’ eyes widened, but not in anger as Newt was expecting. Instead, he appeared almost giddy—as if Newt had given him exactly what he wanted.

 

“Yes. Quite. Unless, of course, you have too much power to take.” He leaned back, smoothing down the front of his uniform much more leisurely than Newt believed necessary or appropriate in any circumstance. “As you said—a double life. Double the rank, double the power. And what better alibi for the illegal trading of magical creatures than a naval officer who is forced to use violence against them to protect his crew?”

 

“Mass slaughter for the greater good, you mean?” Newt asked, his blood rushing to his face and his heart pounding against his ribcage. Graves pursed his lips and nodded, and it was ultimately the self-satisfied manner in which he held himself that made Newt’s control shatter. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that rubbish?! You’re a madman!”

 

It was as if he had thrown a bucket of ice water on a blistering fire. Graves’ smirk plummeted into a deep frown, his eyes growing hard and his entire stance melding into something far more menacing. Ever so slowly, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around the cold steel of the prison bars until they grew white from the stress. He leaned his face forward until his breath wafted over Newt’s nose and cheeks, but Newt’s fury allowed him to stand strong.

 

“Funny…that’s what most of my men are saying about you,” Graves growled. “I made sure to convince them all that you were simply… _eccentric_ —that they shouldn’t take anything you say or do too seriously.”

 

Newt’s breath left him in shallow gust as the horrible implications sank in. Graves’ smirk returned, triumphant as he dealt the finishing blow.

 

“Now, who do you think is going to believe your crazy accusations that their loyal, decorated Captain is Gellert Grindelwald after everything that’s happened today? After all, someone like you would probably say _anything_ to try and get yourself pardoned.”

 

They stood for a long moment in complete silence. Newt’s eyes burned with the sting of embittered tears, knowing in his heart that even if Jacob rallied the Goldstein sisters to the truth, they would be drastically outnumbered by the more violent non-believers. And as much as it pained him to admit, Graves’ years of documented service trumped any circumstantial evidence that a wild, antisocial magizoologist could hope to offer.

 

With one last gratified huff, Captain Graves pushed himself away from the bars and sauntered back across the ship with his arms folded behind him. 

 

“Enjoy your time in the brig, Mr. Scamander.”

 

* * *

 

 In addition to worrying, Newt was not fond of violence for the sake of violence. In the wild, animals hunted for sustenance and defended themselves for the sake of their own survival, but humans were undeniably the most violent creatures on earth. They lied, they cheated, they were cruel for no other reason than they wanted to be, and it ate at Newt’s insides every time he dwelled on it for too long.

 

The abundance of lies he would have gotten over. The callous disregard for the innocent creatures around them he would have forgiven. But using his expertise and his love for those creatures for their cruel, avaricious means—that was an act of war.

 

The first time he tried to escape, Newt had gently encouraged Pickett to pick open the lock on his cell, making sure to check for elusive goblins and passing officers. He managed to get quite far, popping into his former cabin to check if his case had miraculously been deposited there for safekeeping. Sadly, his side of the room was bare and abandoned, and a drifting crew member caught him sneaking about soon after. His second attempt, once again aided by Pickett, followed a similar pattern with three officers jumping him before he even made it up the stairs to the main deck. 

 

The third time he was caught, Commander Shaw personally escorted him to the Captain’s quarters.

 

“These antics are getting old, Mr. Scamander,” Graves snapped. He slammed a small pile of papers onto his desk, glaring at the squirming magizoologist with unbridled contempt. “What, precisely, are you even trying to do? Grab your case and steal a lifeboat?! Where would you go? How would you keep yourself from starving to death?”

 

Newt refused to answer, partially out of rebellion and partially because that had indeed been his plan, but he hadn’t really thought that far ahead yet.

 

“Shall I have one of the men break his legs, sir? It would stop him from getting very far, at least,” Commander Shaw said with a smirk. Newt tried very hard not to flinch, especially when Graves seemed to hesitate before shaking his head.

 

“A commendable extreme, Henry, but that won’t be necessary.”

 

The Commander opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sudden burst of noise and movement at the door. A rumpled, harried Langdon stomped into their midst, his left cheek scratched and a bright puffy red. His normally cheerful disposition was a thing of the past, and his sour mood seemed to intensify when his eyes caught sight of his brother.

 

“Captain! A moment of your time, sir!”

 

“Your brother and I are busy here, Langdon. Can this wait?” Graves asked, rubbing a hand over his temples tiredly.

 

“It’s the deck crew, sir. I have some major concerns. They are consistently disregarding my orders, lazing about like snails, can’t seem to keep anything organized—” the Boatswain complained venomously. Newt blinked at such fractious accusations, but the other two men did not seem at all surprised at this behavior. In fact, Commander Shaw chuckled in response.

 

“From the looks of your face, I assume Chastity finally got tired of your _attentions_?” he asked. Langdon scowled in his brother’s direction, although the remainder of his cheeks turned a matching vibrant red to what Newt could only assume was the admirable slap from a young lady’s hand.

 

“Langdon, I promise I will hear your concerns as soon as I take care of this mess,” the Captain said.

 

“What mess? What’s happened?” Landon asked.

 

“Nothing that concerns you,” Commander Shaw said, finally turning to face his younger sibling with a patronizing frown. “Just listen to the Captain and go.”

 

“You are not the one in charge, Henry! And I’m sick of this every time I come in here—”

 

“Langdon! Please,” Graves scolded. The Shaw brothers fell into a tense silence, their mutual distaste for one another tainting every molecule in the surrounding air. Newt made a silent note to himself to send a letter to Theseus, if he made it out of the MACUSA’s clutches alive, and write in immense detail about how much he didn’t despise the decorated war hero.

 

“Now, Mr. Scamander, what to do with you? I can’t keep having you escape your confinement—who knows what will happen if you catch the wrong sailor off guard,” Graves murmured. Newt licked his drying lips nervously, reading in between the lines of the Captain’s statement and seeing it for the threat it was.

 

“I’d offer to keep an eye on him, sir, but my men and I are too busy with other tasks to do it full time,” the Commander said.

 

Landon shifted slightly on Newt’s other side, and his expression slowly shifted from one of confusion to one of enlightened glee.

 

“…if I may, Captain, why don’t you just use the Barebone boy?” Langdon asked. Newt stared at the curling pieces of parchment scattered over the Captain’s desk, desperate to hide his concern in the event Graves would use it against him. “He’s not utilized in the galley as much as the girls, and he seems to do everything you say.”

 

“I’m not sure he can be trusted with a job as important as this,” Commander Shaw argued, surprising Newt with his sudden undertone of hostility.

 

“…on the contrary. I think you might have a point, Langdon,” Graves said softly. He rose from his chair with a flourish, strode towards the door, and motioned over his shoulder in the Commander’s direction. “Henry, take him back to his cell. I’ll be back shortly.”

 

“…you just had to bring up the freak, didn’t you?” Commander Shaw roughly grabbed Newt around the arm, dragging him out of Graves’ office and brushing by the smirking Boatswain. Any men and women going about their daily tasks gave the two men a wide berth as they descended the stairs and approached the brig. Once Newt had been successfully imprisoned once more, they waited in heavy silence until two dark figures approached from down the hall.

 

“—will bring him his meals and make sure he doesn’t try to escape,” Graves commanded. Credence followed behind the Captain with his head bowed, a silent frightened wraith completely at the older man’s mercy. “And if you see him doing so, find an officer at once. They’ll punish him accordingly.”

 

This last statement was aimed directly at Newt’s face with a pointed glare. The magizoologist glared right back, refusing to give the secret pirate the satisfaction of an emotional reaction. With a final tiny chuckle of amusement, Graves took his leave with a grimacing Commander Shaw following in his footsteps.

 

Credence and Newt were left alone, cold and shivering in the damp dark shadows of the ship.

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

It was not often that Graves’ orders were contradictory. From the very beginning of Credence’s captivity, the Captain was careful to be clear and direct with the power he held over the Selkie. As a result, his sudden appearance in the doorway of the galley, with a stoic request to Mary Lou to have Credence permanently assigned to Newt Scamander as a guard and server, was quite a shock.

 

“Sir? I thought you said—” Credence began, attempting to ignore the foreboding glare he knew Mary Lou was directing at his back.

 

“I know what I said, Credence,” the Captain growled, startling his charge with such sudden maliciousness, “but things have changed. Disregard my last orders and follow the ones I am giving you now. You will stay with Mr. Scamander at all times during the day, unless there is an emergency or I send for you. You will bring him his meals and make sure he doesn’t try to escape.”

 

The two men finally came into view of the small brig, where Mister Scamander stood defiantly with one hand clenched around the steel bar beside his face. Graves stopped only a few feet away from the silent prisoner, standing undeterred and anchored in spite of the British man’s unmistakable hatred.

 

“And if you see him doing so, find an officer at once. They’ll punish him accordingly.” Credence shivered as the two men stared at one another, locked in a futile power play that he could never understand. There was no way that Mister Scamander could ever compete with the Captain on equal ground—he had far too much power, far too much experience in getting what he wanted. And yet, somehow, this magical creatures expert did not seem afraid in the slightest.

 

With a departing chuckle of amusement, Captain Graves and Commander Shaw left Credence standing uncertainly in front of the tiny brig with barely a glance in his direction. A few tense moments of silence passed, until Mister Scamander heaved a heavy sigh and perched himself sluggishly on the small bench in the corner.

 

“I’m sorry you got dragged into all this, Credence,” he said. Credence remained silent and unmoving, startled and confused at having any sort of remorse directed towards him. “I promise not to cause you any more trouble.”

 

“…it’s okay,” Credence found himself saying, although whether that was a true statement or not was still being debated within the depths of his mind. Mister Scamander gave him a small smile, curling up in a tight, complicated weave of limbs and leaning against the cold wood at his back.

 

“Hm. That’s nice of you. Might as well pull up a chair…or, crate, I suppose.” It was not an order, barely a suggestion, and yet Credence found himself almost desperate to find the closest box and plant himself there as quickly as possible. “How are your hands holding up?”

 

“Huh? Oh, fine, thank you,” he said. He turned the scarred appendages over and ran his fingertips over the pale puckered lines of skin, suppressing a blush at the memory of being so close and so gently handled by the man now locked behind steel bars. “Mr. Scamander—”

 

“Oh, please, call me Newt. You and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other for quite some time,” the British man said, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he stared at his long entwining fingers. “Besides, that’s what everyone calls my father. Sounds a bit…odd when it’s applied to me.”

 

“…Newt,” he said, testing the name on his tongue for the very first time. It didn’t burn as much as he thought it would. “What exactly did you do? To be, you know…”

 

“Thrown in this charming little prison?” His smile cracked at the edges with a rueful melancholy, and he shook his head almost as though he couldn’t feel his own body moving. “I have a magic suitcase. It’s filled with a variety of creatures I’ve met along my travels. Most of them are endangered, or injured, or scared—I keep them fed and cared for, and make sure they’re protected and healthy before I release them back into the wild.”

 

Credence’s heart began to race the longer he listened, a tentative longing spreading up his spine and causing him to shiver. Such pretty words, painting a picture of love and care without confinement or shackles. Still, humans lied about such things all the time, and it was possible that Newt was simply embellishing his motives in order to defend the existence of his... _collection_.

 

“Everything was fine, but…someone let them out when I was away. So Graves locked me up in here, until we get back to New York.”

 

Credence felt his throat tighten at the husky, despondent voice that was normally so vibrant and cheerful. Sadness did not suit the British man in the slightest, and Credence scrambled to find any sign of the bountiful vitality that had once dragged him out of the dark numbness of despair. He couldn’t disobey the Captain’s orders and release Newt from his cell, of course, but perhaps he could find a way to cheer him up—if only a little bit.

 

“What kinds of creatures do you have?” he asked, curling his hands together and trying his best not to make any sudden movements. At first, it seemed as if the other man hadn’t heard his question—or, perhaps decided to ignore it—but then Newt shook his upper body out of the deflated stupor he had fallen into and blinked owlishly in Credence’s direction.

 

“Oh, uh, lots of different sorts,” Newt said, ever so slowly relaxing and blossoming outward from his tight curl. “I have a pair of Graphorns and their calves—the last breeding pair in the world. I have an Erumpent, some Bowtruckles, a pink Fwooper, a Nundu—and you’ve met the Niffler, of course,” 

 

“Did he get let out, too?” Credence asked, the corners of his lips curling up against his will.

 

“Of course he did, little bugger! Any chance to get his hands on something shiny.” Credence smiled even wider as he imagined the tiny, greedy voice of the Niffler cheering with glee as it ran amok on the main deck. It would have been quite a spectacular sight to witness.

 

“Mr. Sca—uh, Newt…what’s a Nundu, exactly?”

 

Newt’s grin grew to a close imitation of its previous self, and as the shadows began to dance across the floor and the sounds of the crew hard at work began to lull into a quiet hum, the two men lost themselves in a soft state of serenity as Newt told Credence everything that seemed to pop into the forefront of his mind. He painted masterpieces with his words, describing the expansive habitats and how the fairy’s magic allowed him to create entire worlds within the confines of a simple suitcase. He taught Credence the history and evolution of the different species he had encountered during his travels, his cheeks flushing with pride and delight as the Selkie stared at him with wide eyes and unwavering interest.

 

Credence, meanwhile, sank languidly into the flow of the conversation, his shoulders rolling back and his muscles going slack as the day faded into night. The feeling of being serene after so long under stress was overwhelming and strange; it stretched throughout every muscle in his body, boundless and filling the jagged holes in his heart. Newt transformed into the one stable force tethering him to the ground, a blinding light in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty. The feeling flowed through him as Newt’s words filled the air—until suddenly the time to part arrived.

 

“Hey, Barebone!” a deep voice approached, cutting off Newt’s particularly animated explanation of Erumpent mating rituals without any warning or mercy. Credence flinched in alarm and jumped up from his crate, curling back into himself so quickly that it almost hurt. “You’re done for the day. The Captain wants you back here before breakfast.”

 

Credence nodded at the unfamiliar sailor, throwing a parting look of apology in Newt’s direction before leaving them alone. He wandered back to the galley with the weight of a missed meal and long hours unknowingly passed cumbering his every step. He tried to brace himself for any acts of wrath that Mary Lou might have in store for him upon his return, and was surprised when he found the lights extinguished and the kitchen silent as the dead.

 

The door to his false family’s quarters was closed tight when he checked, and so he daringly retreated to his own bed with aching cheeks and a soft prayer that the sun would rise quicker than it ever had before.

 

Mary Lou barely acknowledged him the next morning at the breakfast preparations, nor did his sisters speak to him as he gathered a plate of eggs and bacon for Newt. The nameless sailor manning his post was polite enough to grumble at him before sauntering off to bed, and Credence was surprised to see their prisoner already wide awake and sitting up on his bench.

 

“You’re awake,” Credence pointed out, biting his tongue once he realized how stupid and obvious such a statement was. Newt did not seem to mind, shrugging and standing up to stretch his arms up above his head.

 

“Yes, well, the brig isn’t the best place to get a good night’s rest,” he said with a smile. Credence found himself unable to keep a responding smile off of his own face, passing the warm plate through the metal vent on the cell door and into Newt’s eager hands. “Oh, you are wonderful! Thank you!”

 

Credence bit back any protests that sprang to the forefront of his mind, taking his place on the crate nearest to the brig as the older man began to shovel forkfuls of eggs into his mouth. He silently hoped that changing the subject would allow them both to pretend that such kind words hadn’t been wasted on him.

 

“Do you have any sea creatures in your case?” he asked softly, trying his best not to sound overly enthused. “You didn’t really mention any yesterday.”

 

“I actually have very few,” Newt said as he chewed thoughtfully on a crisp strip of bacon. “That’s the thing about the sea. Humans abuse it, of course. They poison it and treat it no better than the lands they conquer. But the sea can never be tamed, it can’t be possessed—it’s just too vast and merciless. Anyone who tries is arrogant and foolish, in my opinion.”

 

Credence leaned forward against the bars between them as the dark power beneath his skin practically purred with pride. It was a rare experience indeed, to meet a Human who spoke of the sea with the respect that it truly deserved, even for one trapped on a vessel packed with seafaring veterans.

 

“The water dwellers I do have can’t return to their natural habitats safely. I have a school of Grindylows that were illegally traded and kept in insufficient tanks, an orphaned Marmite I’m raising by hand, and a mermaid who lost her fin to tangled fishing wire. Not really much else,” Newt explained. He paused to finish the last remaining crumbles of egg on his plate, setting it aside and folding his hands between his knees. “Most of my knowledge is from my experience out in the field. I’ve met countless merpeople, Nereids, sea serpents—”

 

As his words teetered off, his smile disappeared and his shoulders slumped down ever so slightly. Credence watched in confusion and concern as the British man became lost in a dark reverie, his face slowly growing hard and cold. Just as Credence opened his mouth to call the other man’s name, however, a harsh blink and jerk of his head brought him back to life.

 

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to—” That thought, too, was discarded barely after it had begun. Credence swallowed, wondering if it would be rude to press Newt for an explanation. “…I was just…there was an incident…recently. It didn’t end well.”

 

“The kraken?” Credence guessed hesitantly. Newt quirked a smile in his direction, all previous signs of his joy and excitement gone.

 

“No, no…a Selkie.”

 

The sounds of the world around them faded beneath a tsunami of white noise inside Credence’ ears. His body ceased all movement, snapping straight and taut as the name of his species echoed in the musky air around them. The haunting pain of his lost life reached down and squeezed his heart until it burst in an eruption of blood and sorrow, and Newt blinked in confusion as the Selkie stared motionlessly into the void.

 

“Credence? What—”

 

“You—You’ve met one?” he gasped, desperate for answers and petrified of what he might hear. Newt swallowed and stared down at his hands, fighting to find his words and courage.

 

“It was about…three months before I arrived in New York. I’d heard about Selkies before, of course, but I’d never…I was on a small island, where I met a man and his young wife— _too_ young, far too young,” he said, his eyes pained and his mouth curling up in a disgusted scowl. “Every time they went to the market, she would stare out at the sea…I had a hunch, and tried to investigate. He’d imprisoned her and locked her pelt away for eight years by the time I met them. I tried to help her escape…but he caught us talking…”

 

Credence felt hot, salty tears flooding his eyes and clinging to his lashes as the darkness within clawed at his ribs in agony. His hands clenched into shaking fists around the metal bars in a desperate battle against the grief for a soul he had never known. It was always the same—carelessness, capture, a life drained of its color and forced into a body never truly their own. It was always painful, and he knew that pain far better than most.

 

“The next day, I heard that she had…she had thrown herself off the cliff beside their cottage and drowned,” Newt whispered, his voice hoarse with sorrow. “…she was sixteen.”

 

A piercing whimper escaped Credence’s throat, his head bowing and resting against the brig as his tears flowed down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. As if from a great distance, he heard a strangled gasp before a gentle hand brushed against his sleeve and up towards his shoulder. A warm weight wound itself around his back, resting soft and still against the scars hidden beneath his clothing.

 

“Oh, Credence, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you!” Newt pleaded, running his other hand up through Credence’s hair in gentle motions. A part of Credence revolted against the gesture—too familiar to Graves’ illusions of affection and bringing back such painful memories. And yet, despite his simmering repulsion, the much larger part of him leaned into Newt’s touch without hesitation. “…I know it’s sad, and unfair…but sometimes, despite our best efforts…there’s nothing we can do.”

 

Words abandoned them for the rest of that dark day, the hours crawling away as Credence’s tears dried up and his heart grew heavy. Newt was in no better condition, removing his arm from Credence’s shoulders and curling his fingers around his fist instead. They sat unmoving and silent as the ship continued to sail along the churning winter waters, until they were forced to part as heavy footsteps approached and Credence was relieved for the night. As he dressed for bed, the Selkie realized with a guilty groan that he had once again neglected to bring Newt any lunch or supper—and then felt doubly guilty when he remembered that Newt had not complained or mentioned it once.

 

He made sure to sneak extra meat and vegetables onto Newt’s plate the next morning, and was glad to see that all evidence of their shared melancholy had vanished by the time he reached the brig.

 

“I’m sorry I forgot about bringing you food! It won’t happen again!” Credence vowed. Newt rubbed the back of Credence’s hand with a smile before accepting his breakfast, turning his back just as a violent blush bloomed on Credence’s cheeks in response.

 

“To be fair, I wasn’t very hungry last night.” The two men sat together, as had become their new routine, with small, light-hearted banter as their only real entertainment. Newt was clearly holding his normal enthusiasm back, throwing quick and suspiciously curious glances at Credence’s face every few minutes when he thought he wasn’t being watched. Credence shifted worriedly on his crate, unsure of what Newt was trying to accomplish but unwilling to break the tentative peace they had managed to salvage from yesterday’s disaster.

 

And then suddenly, as if summoned by their dark moods only a morning prior, Newt saw a dark speck out on the horizon from his tiny window to the sea.

 

“What—” Newt rose from his bench and pressed his forehead against the glass, rising up on his toes in an attempt to see further out of his limited line of vision. Credence stood as well, but was unable to glimpse anything around Newt’s tangled mess of curls. He watched in confusion as the British man silently reached into his shirt and removed a pair of glistening brass telescopes mounted side-by-side and covered in knobs and dials, connected around his neck by a tiny brass chain.

 

“…how long have you had those?” he couldn’t help but wonder aloud. Newt flapped a hand in his direction, staring intently through the eyepieces and fidgeting with the dials intermittently.

 

“Tattered flags…Pirates,” Newt said softly.

 

A cold sense of dread spread from the base of Credence’s neck all the way down his spine. If there was one thing that the Captain hated more than threats to his authority as a Navy officer, it was a competitor threatening his territory as a pirate. Moreover, if any of the rogues sent to attack the MACUSA were to recognize Graves and his lackeys for who they really were, the towering pedestal on which he stood would crumble into dust. Which meant that, at any minute now—

 

“Hey, freak!” Right on schedule, Commander Shaw strode towards him with an angry scowl. From the corner of his eye, Credence saw Newt stuff the strange device back into his shirt and turn to face the Commander with a glare. The officer paid him no heed, instead focusing all of his anxiety and anger on the cowering Selkie among the crates. “You know the drill. Let’s go!”

 

Credence purposefully didn’t look at Newt as he swallowed his fear and followed the Commander up to the main deck, where the Captain was shouting orders of retreat with more vigor and animosity than usual. Tension vibrated across the air as Credence reached the quarter deck and ascended the stairs, the dark power within him thrashing excitedly in expectation. Graves stared out at the pursuing pirate ship through his spyglass as the Selkie approached and Commander Shaw forcibly took control over the wheel at the helm behind them.

 

“I’m honestly surprised we hadn’t been pursued earlier,” Graves grumbled to himself. Credence remained silent, both impatient for the orders he knew would come and desperately wishing he didn’t have to follow them. “Well, we can’t have them catching up to us, now can we?”

 

Graves lowered the spyglass and smirked at the distant outline of the approaching ship, turning to stare directly into Credence’s eyes as he moved away from the railing.

 

“Destroy that ship. Leave no survivors.”

 

As the Captain returned to his place at the wheel, Credence reached forward and grasped the railing in sweating palms. If magic would have allowed it, his entire form would have exploded into a writhing black cloud of anger and vengeance as he called upon the wind and water to do his bidding. Far in the distance, he could hear the thunder roaring violently and lightning tearing the sky apart. His vision grew hazy around the edges, his entire being focused only on the ship he had been commanded to tear into pieces.

 

The ocean stirred violently beneath the vessel, crashing into the sides and sending the tiny specks of human life flying into the air. What had once been a kind and gentle mother rippling in the sun became a heartless savage consumed by wrath. Black torrent waves clawed at the masts, ripped the sails, and dragged them all down into the depths below—an endless avalanche of water that threatened to drown the world.

 

It was over in minutes.

 

Credence slumped forward against the railing, his power only slightly drained and his thirst for blood barely quenched. The MACUSA sailed undeterred on calm waves, with the crew cautiously continuing to perform their tasks and watching as the sudden, isolated storm continued to rage in the distance. Credence would have laughed at their ability to explain away almost any unnatural phenomenon using ignorance and poor logic if he wasn’t so frustrated with it all.

 

“Alright, men, we’re clear! Everyone back to their posts!” Graves shouted. Credence recognized the double meaning subtly aimed at him, fighting back against his disappointment and forcing his body to turn away from the gentle waves calling out to him. He shuffled down the stairs while taking deep, steadying breaths, his racing thoughts calmed only by the knowledge that Newt would at least be able to distract him from his pain with fantastical stories and a blinding smile.

 

He should have known that was too much to hope for.

 

He should have known that he didn’t deserve such a reprieve, not after all of the death and destruction that his very existence caused to others.

 

He should have known, and that was why it hurt so much when he was greeted not with a smile, or a laugh, or a light-hearted quip—but instead with a wide-eyed stare of dawning horror.

 

And in an instant, Credence felt his entire world shatter.

 


	16. Chapter 16

There were a lot of things that Newt did not particularly like about himself, but he had never believed that he was a stupid man. Brash—yes. Easily distracted—often. Careless—sadly. But for all of his faults, Newt Scamander was far more intelligent than some gave him credit for, and he tried to be as open-minded and intuitive as possible.

 

He had been horrified by the revelation that Captain Graves was also Gellert Grindelwald, but was not so proud as to assume that he would have been able to see through this deception any better than the highest powers in the United States Navy. That failure was difficult to live with, yes, but not impossible to forgive himself for.

 

Failing to see a captured Selkie suffering right in front of his eyes, however, would haunt Newt for years to come.

 

Realistically speaking, Credence’s knowledge of and interest in sea creatures should have been the first red flag. True, he had clearly lived on the ocean for an extensive amount of time, but his comments about krakens seemed far too knowledgeable despite the universal lack of documentation on the subject. His strange interactions with Captain Graves, few and far between as they may have been, certainly should have raised Newt’s suspicions more than they had at the time. And for all of the nagging little questions he had after the boy’s heartbreaking reaction to Newt’s tale of the poor Selkie girl, the magizoologist had somehow convinced himself that there was nothing worth investigating.

 

Maybe he was stupid, after all.

 

He hadn’t understood what possible assistance Credence could have been to the Captain after Commander Shaw had come barging in, throwing around his unnecessary insults and anger. Still, there was little he could do from within the confines of his tiny cage, and once he had been left alone, Newt immediately resumed staring at the oncoming pirate ship through his Omnioculars. It was slightly larger than the MACUSA, with a black tattered flag fluttering menacingly over the main mast. When he zoomed in closer, he saw the slightly hazy outline of a wooden mermaid figurehead with her face completely disfigured and burned away.

 

Just as he was about to worry whether the MACUSA could outrun this new contender, the sky beyond the three masts grew grey and filled with dark, twisting clouds. He dropped the Omnioculars from his eyes, watching with confusion and terror as lightning split across the heavens and the waves began to arch against the sides of the ship. Newt placed a steadying hand on the wall beside his head, searching for any signs that both vessels would be lost to this sudden tempest.

 

He was quite shocked when the wood beneath his palm remained unmoving and calm.

 

After a moment’s pause to check whether or not he was imagining things, he extended the Omnioculars’ range to the areas surrounding the pirate ship’s futile struggle to stay afloat. Where he expected miles of pulsing clouds and rough waters, however, he found a picturesque divide between where the calm sea ended and the small, isolated storm began. It was as if the pirate ship were trapped in an ornate, magical box filled with every sailor’s worst nightmare, and Newt could only stare in horror as the sea swallowed the ship as it fell to tiny pieces.

 

His arms fell limply to his sides, the brass instrument dangling dangerously in his loose fist.

 

‘ _It can’t be…it’s not…but…_ ’ Fragmented, silent protests that were born of denial and shock, all too quickly buried underneath a cold revelation that slithered down to his very core. The clues were all there, right in his most vivid memories, and it all fit far too perfectly.

 

Male Selkies, unlike their female counterparts, had a terrifying power that allowed them to raise storms against any ships they deemed a threat to their well-being. From what little Newt had learned about their species, evidence suggested that the male Selkies were far less social and less likely to be captured by humans. It was clear to the magizoologist, however, that this was not true in this particular situation.

 

The remaining fragments of the magical massacre faded into the distance as Newt stood silent and thoughtful in the quiet creaking of his wood and metal prison. Soft footsteps shuffled up from behind him, and he turned with woeful expectation as Credence came into view from behind the towers of crates. There were a multitude of signs that Newt now saw so clearly—the bowed, submissive posture; the wide, fearful eyes with dark rings lining his lids; and the restless, twitching digits from suppressing such a massive amount of power against his will. As the young man approached the brig and finally raised his eyes, Newt could only watch in horrified silence as the near-constant glint of fear practically tripled in intensity at the sight of Newt’s expression.

 

Credence froze only a few feet away from Newt’s cell and for a few long moments neither of them spoke. The magizoologist took a deep breath and allowed himself to sink back into his habitual methods, keeping direct eye contact with the trembling figure before him and slowly sinking back onto his bench. He kept his hands visible at all times, careful to keep every movement slow and his body language open and docile.

 

“It’s alright,” he said softly. Credence refused to approach any further, his trembling growing more and more violent as the seconds ticked on. Newt bit the inside of his mouth to keep from saying anything that might cause more suffering to the poor man, tilting his head slightly to the side to expose his bare neck.

 

Credence’s dark eyes visibly sought out the nearest escape routes, his shoulders hunching up to his ears and his breathing growing shallow with every gasp he took. Ever so slowly, so as to not startle him, Newt leaned forward and brought himself to his knees, hoping that surrendering the height dominance to the panicking galley boy would dampen his fight or flight response.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Credence. We don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to,” he soothed.

 

In response, the young man’s face grew practically emotionless, and he visibly swallowed before backing away and seating himself on a lone crate as far away from the brig as he was allowed. Newt tried not to let his inner disappointment and grief at the loss of their comfortable rapport show on his own face. Instead, he curled up in a matching ball on the floor, setting the Omnioculars to the side and picking at the strands of moldy hay under his shoes.

 

Neither of them spoke for quite a few minutes, until Newt reached his limit and broke.

 

“…you can tell me to mind my own business…but may I ask you something?” Credence continued to sit silently on his create, drawing further and further into himself with every word that Newt spoke. The magizoologist realized that his next approach would require delicacy and care, and tried his best to sound casual and comforting rather than forceful. “How long have you been sailing on the MACUSA?”

 

“……” Credence searched their immediate surroundings, as if every shadow held a hidden spy waiting for him to disobey the Captain’s orders and report him for mutiny. Newt forced himself to be patient, allowing the question to hang heavily in the air between them. “…five years.”

 

“That’s quite a long time. Have you had the chance to sail on any other boats?”

 

“…no.”

 

“That’s a shame. I like smaller fishing vessels, myself. A bit more work, but less people to entertain.” Silence fell once more. A few beats of rest, though the two men refused to relax, until Newt tried a different course of conversation. “It’s always fascinated me how some people are drawn to the water. You would think, as land animals, humans would have a natural, internalized fear of the ocean. I mean, it’s too large for us to swim across, far too deep for us to see the bottom, and we would be an easy target for any predators we’d come across. And yet, we’ve been traveling by boat for centuries and we—”

 

“STOP IT!” Credence screamed, his scarred, shaking hands grabbing at his cropped mop of hair and practically yanking the strands out by their roots. He buried his face into his knees and his shoulders convulsed with short, harsh breaths. Newt jumped at the foreign volume of Credence’s voice, fighting to keep his hands steady and his posture open.

 

“…I’m sorry?” he asked gently.

 

“I know you know! I can’t tell you and I can’t talk about it, but I know you want to ask so just ask!” Credence said in rush.

 

“…well, if you can’t answer my question anyway, it would be pointless to ask in the first place, wouldn’t it?” Newt asked. Credence’s hands released his hair with a short spasm and then fell at his sides on top of the crate, as if he had lost the will to even try. Newt couldn’t help the small smile that grew from his sympathetic frown, even if it was slightly cruel to take enjoyment out of another’s frustration. “Tell you what. We’re stuck with one another until Graves says otherwise. Why don’t we play a game to pass the time?”

 

Credence glanced up at him from the depths of black fabric and bony knees, his eyebrows narrow with confusion and suspicion. Newt allowed his grin to grow and crossed his own legs beneath him.

 

“We’ll play a game of questions. We’re only allowed to speak in questions, answering one question with another, and they cannot be direct or simple ‘Yes or No’ type questions,” Newt explained. Credence did not object, but also did not show any signs of confidence at Newt’s enthusiasm. Nonetheless, the magizoologist stayed resolute. “We’ll start a little simpler to practice. Does your mother treat her ailments with tonics or words?”

 

Credence raised his head and stared at Newt curiously. After a few short moments of silent contemplation, the young galley boy whispered a question of his own.

 

“If a mother…shares your home but not your blood…does that still make her yours?” 

 

“Hmm. Do you prefer to dance on the ground or in the air?” 

“…if a phoenix has no wings or fire, would you still call it a phoenix?”

“…does your reflection have a twin no one else can see?” Newt leaned slightly forward, keeping his eyes free of judgement and his voice soft with promises of comfort no matter Credence’s answer. The younger man hesitated, but not for as long as Newt had been expecting.

 

“Aren’t all reflections illusions?” he asked, his eyes downcast and filled with a dark melancholy.

 

Despite his best efforts, the soft burn of treasonous tears blurred the edges of Newt’s vision. It was awful enough that anyone would be so morally bankrupt as to capture an innocent living being, bend their very soul to their will, and keep them locked up as a tool for their own gain. It was an entirely different level of barbarity to keep a beautiful creature of the sea, who physically could not return to their home so long as they were imprisoned, trapped on a boat for five straight years.

 

“…who…in a prison built of lies and fear, who holds the keys to the cells?” he asked shakily. Credence’s sharp gaze bore into his own misting eyes, his expression almost threatening in its impassiveness.

 

“…what’s in a name? A king lost in a foreign land has less authority than a petty thief.”Newt ground his teeth together to keep from screaming in frustration, unfurling his limbs and throwing himself to his feet with barely a sound. If Credence had any thoughts on his sudden activity, he chose to keep them to himself and remain safely huddled on his crate.

 

The magizoologist stalked the perimeter of his cage, barely containing his scowl and defensive tendency to mutter. This was all wrong! Keeping Newt a prisoner and out of the way was one thing, but this—this could not go unpunished. He had to get Credence away from this place, away from the twisted serpent keeping him captive against his very nature.

 

“Do you want to be freed?” he asked, throwing all remaining caution to the wind and standing tall in front of his prison door. Credence’s eyes snapped shut, his pale face contorting as if he had been stabbed right in the chest.

 

“…that’s a ‘Yes or No’ question, Mr. Scamander,” he murmured through gritted teeth. Newt tried not to crumple under the guilt of Credence’s regression to formality, and it was much more difficult than he cared to admit.

 

“The game is postponed. I want the honest truth—do you want to be released from this curse and return to the sea?” Despite all logical sense from an outsider’s perspective, Newt knew better than most that some victims of abuse and imprisonment had been taught to deprive themselves of good things; that any offer to help the victim was more terrifying than any act of violence or neglect they had already experienced. He had so often seen recovering creatures so well acclimated to being hurt on a regular basis that fell into crippling spells of anxiety, waiting for the moment when the illusion of safety and freedom was finally shattered and the pain returned. Words were practically useless, of course, but there was one thing that Newt could give to Credence in this time of uncertainty—control.

 

“What?!” Credence asked, his voice cracking in confusion and skepticism.  

 

“I want to help you, Credence, but only if you _want_ to be helped,” Newt said. The cowering young man blinked, his eyes jumping all along Newt’s body in search of any signs of deceit. “…do you want to be freed?”

 

 “…yes!” the Selkie gasped, his eyes wide and wet with desperation. Newt was shocked when he practically threw himself off of the crate and grabbed the metal bars in a death grip. “Yes! Please! Please help me!”

 

“Of course I will!” Newt whispered passionately, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his shaking shoulder. “I will do everything I can to get you out of here.”

 

He wouldn’t fail a second time—he _couldn’t_! He would do for Credence what he couldn’t for the poor island girl, and restore the balance of the universe so unfairly skewed by human greed. It wouldn’t be easy to accomplish, of course, but he was far too determined to really care.

 

“If you’re able to survive on the ship without being in pain, then that means your pelt must be on it, too,” Newt muttered. Credence flinched at how openly the magizoologist referred to his second skin, but remained otherwise silent and listening. “Before anything else, we need to find where it’s being hidden.”

 

“I think it’s in Captain Graves’ office,” Credence said suddenly. Newt jerked back in shock.

 

“What?” he asked. “How—wait, you said you couldn’t talk about it.”

 

“I can’t talk about… _me_. And I can’t look for _it_ , but he never ordered me not to talk to someone who already knows the truth,” Credence explained. Newt allowed this roundabout logic to sink in, eventually nodding in acceptance and moving onto more important topics.

 

“Okay! So all we need to do is break into his office, find your pelt, and then escape!” Newt said.

 

“But I can’t let you out,” Credence warned, shaking his head in obvious distress. “The Captain ordered me to report it if I see you trying to escape. I can’t disobey a direct order!”

 

“…a _direct_ order?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“So, if you don’t _see_ me trying to escape…then you don’t have to report it. Right?” Newt grinned and slid his hands into his trouser pockets, pacing the perimeter of the brig as multiple daring plans of rescue and rebellion suddenly springing to life within his head. Credence seemed to consider this for a moment, before cautiously shrugging and nodding. “Perfect! I have an idea, but I’m going to need some help. Now, Credence—”

 

Just as the ideas began to flow in earnest, a sudden, more chilling thought struck the magizoologist right in the heart. Five years, the Selkie had said—five years a prisoner, five years living as a human being against his will. And in those five long years, he had been forced to abandon everything that had once been a part of his true identity for the sake of Captain Graves’ façade. His nature, his power, his freedom…his…

 

“Newt?” he called worriedly, leaning in even closer in between the metal bars. Newt’s arms fell limply to his sides as he turned to look at the innocent young man who had shown him only kindness and respect in spite of everything that he had been through. He swallowed all of his enthusiasm, bit his tongue against the tirade of plans he was desperate to set into motion, and instead approached the Selkie with a small, empathetic smile.

 

“How rude of me. I should have asked sooner.”

 

“…what?”

 

“What’s your name?”

 

The young man’s eyes grew impossibly darker, his frown deepening as he stared at Newt’s open expression. The magizoologist held nothing back, allowing the magical being before him to gaze into his very soul and see that he meant no harm. After all, names were powerful things, and if Newt could give him nothing else, he would give him the proper respect that he deserved after all this time.

 

“Credence is the name they gave you when they captured you, isn’t it? But what did your real mother call you…if you don’t mind me knowing it?” he asked, reaching forward and wrapping his fingers lightly around the pale fist clenching the brig next to their heads.

 

Credence barely moved, barely breathed, until a single word brushed against their lips in a gust of salty air.

 

“ _Obscurial_.”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [this post](http://stevetomjohn.tumblr.com/post/161492366410/i-was-thinking-this-weekend-about-how-awkward-it) for the inspiration for the riddles/euphemisms! If anyone can’t figure them out, please comment and I will post a translation in the Notes section!


	17. Chapter 17

 

While he had no definitive plan set into stone within his mind, Newt was positive that he would not be able to complete any sort of rescue mission without backup. Captain Graves was a man who truly trusted no one but himself, as most pirates tended to be, and so Newt had no doubts as to the location of his suitcase and Credence’s—that is, _Obscurial’s_ — seal pelt. Getting into the Captain’s quarters and breaking into his personal office would be impossible to pull off on his own, but Newt was hoping that a little assistance would be forthcoming with minimal pleading on his part.

 

“Alright. So when you’re relieved for the night, slip this under the girls’ door,” Newt said, exchanging the folded piece of parchment for a plate of food that the Selkie had fetched him for lunch. The look he had received when he’d pulled the parchment and pen from one of his many secret pockets had been quite entertaining, though every movement or expression that his minder made was now permanently edged with anxiety and fear. “Graves never said you couldn’t relay messages or allow me visitors, so you’re not breaking any orders. Hopefully, they’ll come tomorrow and we can get started.”

 

“What if someone catches me?”

 

“You said so yourself—most of the crew leaves you alone. We’ll use that to our advantage.” Newt took a large bite of vegetables and leaned against the bars separating them. “We shouldn’t be too far off the coast. After we grab your— _it_ , and my case, we can grab a lifeboat and escape towards the shore. If we’re lucky, we might even be picked up by another ship.”

 

“What if we can’t find it? What if it’s locked up and we can’t get it?” The Selkie’s voice steadily rose in pitch, tipping dangerously from worry into panic. Newt set his plate aside and gently took one of his trembling hands into his own.

 

“Obscurial—”

 

“Don’t!” he gasped, shaking his head and forcing his breathing to remain even. “Please. Can you just—just keep calling me Credence?”

 

Newt blinked in surprise. He had believed that using his real name, his Selkie name, would have been a comfort rather than a source of pain. Of course, it was never easy to predict what precisely a victim of abuse and imprisonment would internalize and turn into a trigger—and, really, the magizoologist should have been more careful about making assumptions.

 

“I’ll call you whatever you want to be called, Credence. I’m sorry, I should have asked first,” he whispered. Credence shook his head more forcefully, squeezing Newt’s fingers and curling his body around their locked hands.

 

“No, I…I just…I can’t—”

 

“It’s alright. Really, it is. You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Newt assured softly. He quickly glanced around to see if there were any spies eavesdropping on their conversation before continuing to elaborate on his plan. “My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice. We’ll take it one step at a time. For now, do you think you can wait a little longer?”

 

Credence nodded, releasing the magizoologist’s hand and settling back on his crate. Newt finished his meal without any further fanfare, choosing instead to plot and plan in silence. The first step was breaking out of the cell, which he had already proven quite a simple feat. After that, it was a matter of getting to the Captain’s quarters without being caught, breaking into Graves’ office, and finding his case and the pelt. Some steps he could potentially achieve alone, but his record of being apprehended by Graves’ loyal crew was not the most reassuring.

 

Thankfully, the rest of the day passed without incident, and it was with great hope and confidence that Newt bid Credence goodnight when the night watchman came to keep an eye on him.

 

The next morning was heavy with tension, with only a hot breakfast and a small confirmation from Credence that the note had been delivered to calm Newt’s anticipation. They passed the time with small, innocent discussions of the sea and all the life within it, sharing stories from their youth and tales of the creatures they had encountered. Newt was surprised to find how comfortable the whole affair was, how almost desperately he tried to make Credence smile and how quickly the hours seemed to pass.

 

As the sun reached its peak beyond his porthole, two hushed voices laced with magic joined their tiny corner of the ship.

 

“—a chance, Teenie! Jacob said—”

 

“I know what he said, but it’s still—” Tina’s harsh whisper cut off when she caught sight of the two men lounging on either side of the metal door. Her expression immediately softened, though not at the sight of Newt’s imprisonment like he had been expecting. Instead, she stared at Credence, jabbing her hands into her trouser pockets and pulling her shoulders back.

 

Queenie, meanwhile, danced out from behind the crates and directly up to where Newt was standing.

 

“We got your note, honey! How are you holding up?” she asked. Before Newt could even finishing drawing in his breath to answer, she read his chaotic thoughts and responded without missing a beat. “Oh, I’m so glad! We were worried sick after all that excitement!”

 

She paused for a moment before leaning forward and whispering conspiringly into Newt’s personal space.

 

“Jacob told us what you told him. Is it true?” Newt closed his eyes, replaying the exact memories of what he overheard between the separate meetings of Captain Graves, Gnarlack, and the nameless buyer in the bar. Queenie waited patiently for the memories to finish playing out, nodding with an unyielding smile before turning to where her sister waited with patient anticipation.

 

“He’s telling the truth, Teenie. I’m sure of it,” the blond nymph said, her posture straight and her eyes challenging. Tina’s expression grew fearful and confused, waving her arms in the air and beginning to pace around the tiny barrier of the brig.

 

“I don’t understand! How could Captain Graves do something like this? He’s always been so—he would never—” she sputtered angrily. Newt watched her with growing sympathy, knowing how deeply her nature forced her to respect authority and hierarchies on principle alone. 

 

“Power and money are huge motivators, Tina. Even great men can fall from grace,” he said softly. With a deep sigh, she scrubbed at her dark eyes, which had grown glossy with frustrated tears of betrayal. Once her tears had been sufficiently banished, her expression grew determined as she glared at the magizoologist trapped in the prison before her.

 

“He needs to be brought to justice,” she growled. “What are you planning, Newt?”

 

The British man tried not to express his surprised joy at having the normally strict and professional Nereid address him by his first name—though, from Queenie’s small smile, he knew that he was far less successful in shielding such emotions from his thoughts. Instead, he turned his attentions to explaining his plans of escape to Queenie through their mental link. At first, she nodded along with a serene smile of agreement, but as Newt revealed Credence’s true nature her eyes widened to twice their size. Her pale hand covered her open mouth as she learned the truth beyond the truth, and Newt could tell that it was only through sheer willpower that she did not burst into tears.

 

“Oh! Oh, sweetie!” she cried, turning her attention to where Credence was attempting to blend into the shadows with some small margin of success. At her sudden attentions, he flinched and glanced between her and Newt with confusion. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t—I never realized!”

 

“Ma’am?” he asked, his voice wavering in discomfort.

 

“Queenie is a Legilimens, Credence. That means she can read feelings and memories from another person's mind,” Newt explained. Credence stared openly at where Queenie was rubbing the back of her hand over the corner of her eyes, and where Tina was now moving with slow, careful movements.

 

“Queenie? What am I missing? What’s happened?” she asked worriedly. Queenie shook her head, and Newt moved to intervene before Credence descended fully into a sense of panic.

 

“All you need to know is that Graves stole something important from Credence, and I intend to get that back, as well. Queenie—” he warned, but the blonde was already nodding along.

 

“I won’t tell. Not unless he wants me to,” she promised. Credence visibly relaxed at this quiet vow, but only just.

 

“Do you think you’ll be able to pull it off, Queenie?” Newt asked, mentally reviewing the plan again just in case she needed a second look. In response, she grabbed Tina around the arm and nodded with a sniff.

 

“Leave it to us, honey! I’ll explain everything.” Newt nodded in confirmation, watching with budding hope as the two women walked away. Credence kept them in his sight for as long as he was able, craning his neck and twisting his hands around themselves.

 

“Credence?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“After you’re relieved for the night, I want you to go pack anything that you want to take with you,” Newt whispered. Credence’s eyes snapped to him, wide and hopeful in a way that almost shattered Newt’s heart into pieces. “Once you’re done, hide on the main deck. If all goes well, one of the Goldstein sisters will find you. Are you alright with that?”

 

“…do you think it’ll work?”

 

“…I can only hope so.”

 

* * *

 

The beginning of their masterful escape went well, all things considered.

 

The burly, bored sailor that usually replaced Credence for the night came right on schedule, brushing past the quivering Selkie with a grunt and settling himself on a nearby crate. Credence only looked back at Newt once, and the magizoologist gave him an encouraging smile before he lost sight of him completely. A few quiet minutes passed, with the dying echoes of the night shifts traveling down from the main deck upon the salty air.

 

It wasn’t long after that a second, more graceful hymn reached their ears.

 

A soft, deep female voice sang soothing syllables and climbing notes—a wordless lullaby barely heard above the rocking of the ship. Newt discreetly plugged his ears with his fingertips as he watched the already dozing guard slowly slip into a deep slumber, and it was only after Queenie flounced into his sight—wearing a vibrant pink coat of all things—that he restored his hearing. She grinned proudly at the snoring guard as Tina and Jacob joined her shortly after. Newt waved at them all with a grin, wordlessly removing Pickett from his waistcoat and coaxing him to the lock.

 

Tina helped him into his coat and grabbed his upper arm once he was free, standing beside him as Queenie and Jacob nodded and made their way up to the main deck. After a few short minutes, a soft note similar to the lullaby whispered in their ears, and Tina yanked Newt forward up the stairs while he pretended to look contrite. If his assumptions of the crew’s intelligence were correct, any passing sailor would assume he had attempted to escape again and Tina had caught him in the process.

 

They made their way across the deck in complete silence, keeping an eye out for Gnarlack and any other officers loyal to Captain Graves. Thankfully, they were able to travel across the ship without incident, and they met up with Queenie and Jacob in the shadows near the foot of the stairs by the quarter deck.

 

“Captain’s investigating some faulty parts down in the hold,” Jacob said with a smirk. “Won’t hurt nothing, but it’ll keep him busy.”

 

“You’re amazing, Jacob!” Newt whispered. The baker flushed at the praise as Tina released Newt’s arm with a sigh, moving to stand further in the shadows as a lookout.

 

“You’d better hurry. He won’t be gone long,” she warned.

 

Newt, Queenie, and Jacob eased opened the door to the Captain’s quarters and closed it behind them as quietly as they were able. The expansive office space was dimly lit with a simple bronze chandelier, as well as the silver moonlight reflecting off the ocean surface through the slanting glass windows extending from the floor to the ceiling opposite the doorway. A curved oak desk was piled high with parchment and brass trinkets, and ornate chairs with red cushions were pushed around it in a haphazard formation. Off to the side were tall, pristinely lined bookshelves guarding a flowing red curtain that separated Graves’ sleeping quarters from the office.

 

To Newt’s dismay, most objects seemed to have their assigned place, with only the cluttered desk betraying any sense of disorganization in the Captain’s life. While such tidiness could be an advantage to their search, it was unlikely they would be able to move anything even an inch without Graves taking notice.

 

“We’ll start looking in here,” Queenie said softly, making her way around the desk and pointing to the velvet curtain. “You search in there, Newt.”

 

Pushing aside his discomfort, Newt moved to brush past the flowing curtain and practically jammed his knee into the wooden bedframe. The Captain’s sleeping quarters were only marginally larger than the crew cabins, with an impressive bed pushed against the wall and rows of drawers built into the frame for storage. Newt set upon these drawers in earnest, rummaging through piles of clothing and folders full of parchment in search of anything resembling his case or a seal skin. After finding nothing of significance, he moved on to the remaining expanse of floor near the footboard, where small boxes were stacked up against the wall.

 

“I found your case, Newt!” Queenie whispered excitedly. The magizoologist poked his head through the curtain, grinning from ear to ear as the Nereid held it into the air in triumph.

 

“Excellent job, Queenie!” he cried softly. “Now look for—you know!”

 

The blonde nodded and returned to her search while Jacob held onto the case for safe keeping. Newt popped back into the sleeping quarters with renewed energy, determined and desperate to find anything that could hold a pelt. In the legends he had been told, pelts were often locked away in some form of trunk or safe where the Selkies could not retrieve them. However, he saw nothing resembling a locked box, and the sleeping quarters were far too small to keep a large safe in.

 

“Now, then…if I were an evil prick, and I had stolen a magic sealskin…where would I—” he muttered to himself, slowly scanning the tiny room and looking for any crevices that might hold the secrets he sought. He began to run his hands over the walls, searching above the curtains, and decided to leave no stone unturned as he pushed his hands beneath the mattress.

 

Just as he was about to give up, his fingertips brushed against something smooth and firm at the foot of the bed. Coaxing the object out into the open revealed an ornate wooden box little more than half the size of his case, with curling gold leaf details on the edges and a small bronze lock on the front. He squinted against the darkness, tapping his waistcoat pocket and allowing Pickett to crawl into his open palm.

 

“Sorry, Pickett, I know I’m working you to death today,” he whispered. The Bowtruckle squeaked up at him, stretching his green appendages into the lock and twitching against the metal inside. Newt sighed with pride as a faint clicked reached his ears, placing Pickett up onto his shoulder and snapping the lid of the box open.

 

Even with the poor lighting, he could see the folds of soft, dark material nestled in a tight ball at the bottom of the box. He ran his fingers over the top of the pelt, angry tears burning his eyes as he gently pulled it out into the air. He could practically feel the magic pulsing through it, and it boiled his blood to imagine how desperately Credence must have missed it—not to mention how helpless he must have felt when Graves stole it in the first place.

 

Just as he began to stuff the pelt into one of his many inner coat pockets, a shuffle of sound suddenly approached his hiding spot. He had only a moment of confusion before Queenie and Jacob forced their way through the curtain and beside him on the bed, their eyes wide with trepidation as Queenie gestured wildly towards the office area.

 

“—decision was absolute, Tina. You know that,” Graves’ stern voice echoed, muffled only slightly by the creaking of his office door. Harried footsteps followed him into the room, followed by a distressed voice Newt had been hoping he wouldn’t have to hear again until they were all out of harm’s way.

 

“I know, sir, but—I was hoping that—if I could just have a moment of your time—” she begged, her voice wavering and soft. Graves huffed as a dull scraping reached the hidden trespassers’ ears, no doubt the sound of a chair being pulled back and reclined in.

 

“I know you meant well, Tina, really I do. But you were out of line,” the Captain said softly. “I don’t like her treatment of the boy any more than you do, but like it or not, she is his mother. She gets to decide what punishments are sufficient to those under her care.”

 

“That was not punishment, sir, that was abuse!” Tina growled, startling Newt with how venomous she spat the words. “It’s my duty to protect the crew from harm—even if it’s from the _rest_ of the crew.”

 

“You have a tendency to disregard authority, Tina…and clearly you haven’t learned your lesson,” Graves said. “I’m sorry, but my decision remains the same. I can’t reinstate you.”

 

Newt cradled the soft seal pelt to his chest, his heart beating rapidly as he realized just how trapped they all were. And yet, despite his panic, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride for Tina and her moral code. Clearly, she had seen Credence’s poor treatment and attempted to reconcile it, even though it meant she lost her job in the process.

 

“Sir—”

 

“Was there anything else?” Graves interrupted harshly. Silence reigned for a few tense moments, during which Newt motioned for his fellow thieves to follow him and stand on either side of the curtain. They plastered their backs to the strips of empty wall they could fit against, waiting to see if Tina could find an excuse to get the Captain back out of the office. “…Tina? Is something wrong?”

 

“No, sir. I’m…I’m sorry I wasted your time,” Tina said despondently. Her retreating footsteps were hesitant and slow, but eventually the door snapped shut and the Captain’s quarters grew quiet. Graves released a sigh, and the creaking of the chair sounded again. Queenie, Jacob, and Newt shared a meaningful look, and it was the mustached baker who fearlessly raised Newt’s closed suitcase high above his head in preparation.

 

Strong, even strides made their way over to the curtain, and Graves had barely made his way beyond it when Jacob slammed the edge of the case directly over the back of the Captain’s head.

 

Graves fell onto the bed with a pained grunt, and Newt wasted no time in launching himself back out into the open office with Queenie and Jacob following close behind. The magizoologist wrenched the door open, keeping a tight grip on the pelt as he ran across the deck and almost collided with a flustered Tina. Jacob slammed the door closed with more force than he likely intended, whimpering as the full implications of their actions began to set in.

 

“Oh, we are so dead!”

 

“Did you get everything?” Tina asked, her face pale and her eyes wide.

 

“Yes! Jacob, my case!” The baker handed the battered luggage to its rightful owner, and Newt took a moment to relish in the comfort of having his creatures in his hands again. He snapped out of his trance as swiftly as he had fallen into it, facing the friends he had most certainly put into more danger than he had anticipated. “Tina, Jacob, get the lifeboat ready! Queenie, can you help me find Credence?”

 

“On it!”

 

“Be careful!”

 

“I hear him. He’s this way, sweetie,” Queenie said, and together they scattered across the deck into the uncertainty of their futures with ringing whispers of confusion and growing suspicion raining down from above the ratlines.

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

It was all happening so quickly, so much like he had dreamed, that Credence had to wonder when it would all fall apart. He had expected some form of rejection, perhaps more likely a million questions, but never in his deepest, most secret fantasies did he ever believe that Newt would vow to set him free from Graves’ control.

 

Their game of words was a stroke of genius that allowed Credence to avoid disobeying his curse, both exciting the Selkie with its brilliance and frightening him with how quickly Newt had thought of it. He was surprised at how refreshing talking about his true nature was, and yet it was practically excruciating when Newt had called him by his true name. It had been too wonderful, too overwhelming, and far too intimate for him to allow—even as the darkness within begged for more.

 

Of course, when Newt became his new master, he would have the power to call Credence whatever he liked.

 

At first, Credence had worried that Newt would be just as cruel as Graves had been once he had the pelt in his possession. But with every conversation that they held together, with every word that Newt whispered in his ear, Credence found that he stopped caring one way or the other. Perhaps Newt would allow him to swim in the shallows of the sea when they traveled across the world, his imagination suggested. Maybe he would let Credence make storms whenever he wished, or keep him safely locked in his suitcase away from the horrors of humanity.

 

It would certainly be better than his life now, if nothing else.

 

He had slipped Newt’s note to the Goldstein sisters beneath their door without any trouble, and was shocked when Graves did not burst down his own bedroom door to demand why he was sneaking about the ship without being ordered to do so. The next day filled him with even more hope when Newt told him to pack away his belongings in preparation for their escape. Of course, Credence did not own anything of value, personal or otherwise, so instead he went into the kitchen to bundle up a few scraps of food for the journey.

 

He should have known things were going far too well.

 

“Whatchoo doin’, Credence?” a small voice asked, startling him into dropping the apple he had been pinching. He turned with a gasp, but relaxed upon seeing only Modesty standing behind him. Her dark eyes took in the jagged piece of fabric he had been using as a bag, sliding across the slices of bread and cheese with growing confusion.

 

“Modesty, go back to bed,” he whispered, gathering the fallen apple and replacing it with a fresh one from the cupboard.

 

“Why are you—”

 

Before she could finish her question, quick angry footsteps echoed down the hall and came to an abrupt halt as Mary Lou burst into the doorway of the kitchen. Her face darkened from mild annoyance to absolute fury as her gaze traveled in between her two adopted children. Her eyes fell to the open pack of food on the countertop, and her entire body went unnaturally still.

 

“What is this?” she hissed, her voice more furious than Credence had ever heard before. Modesty took a frightened step backwards, silent and pale in the darkness of the room. Mary Lou stalked forward, her attention focused only on where Credence cowered beside his forgotten bounty.

 

Her hand reached up, steady and expectant.

 

“Take it off,” she commanded, her face full of loathing. Credence did as he was bid almost without thought, holding back tears through sheer will and pride alone.

 

He had been so _close_! Just within reach of never having to endure another beating by her hand ever again.

 

“Ma…” he pleaded, but was silenced when she snatched the belt roughly out of his hands.

 

“I am not your Ma! Your mother was a wicked, unnatural being! Just like you!” she growled. Credence backed away from her wrathful tirade, his entire body shaking. He had heard all of those insults before, more times than he could ever remember or count, but they hurt so much more now that he had been shown true kindness.

 

His body froze as Mary Lou raised her arm, the belt waving poised and threatening in the air. Just as she was about to bring it down across his face, however, Credence was shocked to see Modesty throw herself defiantly in front of him. Her tiny body would have done nothing to block the blow, but her protective gesture was enough to stay their matron’s hand.

 

“Leave him alone!” Modesty cried, her long white nightdress flowing around her ankles as she widened her stance and stood her ground. Mary Lou lowered the belt, her face contorting into a sudden, terrifying blankness.

 

“Modesty—” 

 

For the rest of his life, Credence would never be able to explain what came over him in that moment.

 

Maybe it was the realization that Mary Lou would strike Modesty, sweet and innocent Modesty, who had been Credence’s only true companion before Newt had come into his life. Maybe it was Mary Lou’s hateful words, finally proven false and tipping Credence over into the madness he had been repressing for five long years. Maybe it was the reminder of all that he had lost, of all that he had been denied, and what he had to lose if Mary Lou were to keep him trapped under her iron fist until his life ran out.

 

He would never remember grabbing the knife from the drawer.

 

He would never remember how loudly Mary Lou had screamed when he had pushed her to the floor.

 

He would never remember plunging the knife deep into her chest and abdomen over and over and over and over and over.

 

He would never admit how good it felt when he realized that she was no longer breathing, when he finally came back down to earth and realized that he was sitting in a slowly expanding pool of her blood.

 

The knife clanked against the spotted planks when it fell from his grasp, and Mary Lou’s lifeless eyes stared across the floor at the belt lying not two feet away from her head. Credence stood on trembling legs, backing away from the corpse of his tormentor and staring at his bloody hands. The darkness beneath his skin shivered with delight, spreading warmth up and down his spine as he approached the sink, turned on the faucet, and watched the water run red as it cascaded over the scars on his palms.

 

For a moment, there was only white noise. Then the deadly silence crept in, and it was with growing horror that Credence realized exactly what he had done.

 

He had murdered someone. It didn’t matter who, it didn’t matter why—he had murdered a Human in cold blood with a Human weapon. Graves had commanded him to end countless lives in the past, of course, but the Captain was nowhere to be found tonight. This was all Credence’s doing…no magic, no orders, no reason other than he had finally snapped and fallen over the edge.

 

Newt had always treated him with such care and respect, as if he were a precious jewel that should be protected and cherished…but what would he say when he found out? Would he still want a killer under his control, despite being unapologetically against violence and cruelty in all of its forms?

 

What if he changed his mind?

 

What if he left Credence to Graves’ mercy, escaping into the wide world beyond the MACUSA and never looking back?!

 

Credence’s breath came in short, struggling bursts as his lungs shriveled with panic. He couldn’t bear the thought of being left alone on this horrid ship again—of never seeing Newt ever again! He would gladly throw himself into the sea and let it consume him if that was to be his fate.

 

Without even realizing what he was doing, Credence stripped himself of his blood-soaked jacket and waistcoat, throwing them to the floor and rushing out the door as he tore off the knotted tie around his neck. He felt the blood drain from his face as he stumbled past the cabins and the tiny path leading to the brig. A vague passing thought of where Modesty might have gone crossed his mind before becoming lost under the crippling fear of being abandoned by the one person who had ever truly cared about him.

 

‘ _Hide on the main deck. One of the Goldstein sisters will find you_ ,’ Newt had said.

 

Credence clung to these orders like a lifeline, throwing himself into a sniffling ball behind a cluster of barrels near the main mast. His shoulders tensed as he waited for someone to see him, to shout out a warning and drag him out into the open to pay for his crimes. The MACUSA continued to sail undisturbed with the churning waters of the Atlantic, leaving him cold and alone to drown in his own chaotic thoughts.

 

‘ _I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please don’t leave me here! Please! Please help me! Someone help me! Please! I’m sorry! Newt—_ ’

 

“Credence!” Like a choir of angels, Newt’s breathless voice broke through the darkness. Credence uncurled from his misery just enough to see the British man fall forward onto his knees before him, his freckled cheeks red and his hair sticking up in multiple directions. “Are you alright?”

 

He tried his best to respond, to form a coherent plea for forgiveness for the pain he had caused, but could only manage a weak, inherent whimper. Newt reached out slowly, running his hands up Credence’s arms and watching every twitch and flinch on his face. The warmth from his fingertips cut through the fabric of the Selkie’s shirt, settling deep into quivering skin and drawing all sense of anxiety away.

 

“Shh. It’s alright now, Credence,” Newt murmured. Credence couldn’t help himself, leaning forward and burying his face into Newt’s shoulder as he sobbed with regret. “Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

 

‘ _No, but I hurt her_ ,’ Credence thought, shaking his head as a gentle hand reached into his hair to massage his scalp.

 

“Credence, I’m so sorry, but we need to go. Now,” Newt said, coaxing Credence’s face away and reaching into the front of his coat.

 

In that solitary moment, born from the clarity of love and selflessness, Credence realized that he could not live with himself if his savior swept him away without knowing the kind of evil he was truly taking under his ownership. He swallowed his brittle pride, banished his tears, and raised his eyes as he opened his mouth to confess.

 

“Newt, I—”

 

Suddenly, Newt unfurled a thin dark material from his pocket and draped it around Credence’s shoulders like a cloak. The burning jolt of magic hit the Selkie like a violent tidal wave on the edge of a hurricane, lighting every pore of his pale skin on fire and filling his lungs with air he hadn’t even been aware he’d been deprived of. The darkness inside his heart spread through his veins and bled into his very aura—ancient magic, in its purest form.

 

It was _him_.

 

His body was complete again.

 

He was free!

 

Credence pulled in a wet gasp as the magic of his pelt continued to flow through him, and he mindlessly reached up to run the soft skin through his fingertips. Through his sudden burst of tears, he saw Newt’s eyes grow just as wet, his crooked smile wider than Credence had ever seen. Queenie Goldstein stood not a few feet away, her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer and her pink lips open in a wide smile of relief.

 

The sounds of the ocean reached their peak in his ears, singing their joy at his return and sorrow at having missed him so deeply.

 

“I—I—” Words could not convey his gratitude, not for all of the poetry in all of the languages of every race on Earth. Yet, even more difficult was the confusion that crept up on the heels of his happiness. “I don’t understand. I thought—”

 

“What? I promised you I’d get your pelt. And I wasn’t going to let another Selkie die on my watch! Not again,” Newt said determinedly. He reached out and cradled Credence’s tear-streaked cheek in his hand. “You’re free now. You need to go back to the water, Credence, before Graves finds out that it’s missing.”

 

“You’re not—you didn’t want it?” he asked, unable to wrap his mind around such a bizarre concept. He had always been so sure that Newt had wanted to keep the pelt for himself, to steal Graves’ control over Credence and whisk him away where no one would ever find him.

 

“Wha—why would I want it? It’s yours,” Newt said, his voice cracking on a note of bewilderment. As Credence stared in open wonder, the implications of their conversation seemed to settle into Newt’s mind. His expression quickly fell into one of shock and horror, his hand never moving from where it rested warmly on the side of Credence’s face. “You thought I was…OH! Oh, _no_ , Credence! No! Never! I would never do that to you!”

 

“You said we were going to escape. Together,” Credence pointed out, but Newt was already shaking his head.

 

“Only because I wanted to make sure you were safe!” Newt’s other hand joined the first, and the British man held his face up so that they stared deeply into one another’s eyes. “Credence…you belong to no one. Not Graves, not me, not _anybody_.”

 

Fresh tears spilled down the Selkie’s flushing face, his natural breathing almost completely replaced by keening sobs. His heart was practically in pieces, and yet he had never felt so complete and whole. Nobody, not even his kin so many, many years ago, had ever given him something so precious. Suddenly, the world did not seem so hopeless and bleak—instead, he saw open skies and blue waters thousands of miles deep, filled with magic and wishes brought to life.

 

“Credence, honey, I know you’re overwhelmed, but we need to go! Graves just woke up and the crew is getting antsy!” Queenie suddenly said. A startling amount of fear entered Newt’s bright eyes, and without another word, he wrapped his arm around Credence’s waist and heaved him up onto his feet. The three of them moved quickly across the ship to where Tina and the mustached man Newt seemed fond of eating with stood throwing supplies and bulging travel sacks into a rocking lifeboat rigged to descend into the ocean below.

 

“Where have you been?!” Tina whispered harshly. Credence clung to the pelt hanging around his shoulders, nervous and desperate to keep it within his possession after being separated from it for so long. Newt rubbed Credence’s lower back almost absentmindedly as he moved them towards the boat, tossing his suitcase of creatures carefully into the bottom of the boat.

 

“Sorry! Everyone inside, quickly!”

 

Just as they were about to jump into the lifeboat, a sudden, clicking chorus surrounded them on all sides. Credence swallowed nervously as Newt froze beside him, and almost in unison, all five of the attempted deserters turned to face a row of loaded guns and pistols. Crew members from a wide variety of ranks stood as equals, their faces stern and ready to fire at the first sign of trouble. Nobody moved, and for a while none of them even dared to take a breath.

 

From the shadows from beyond the arc of imminent death, his face twisted with rage and disgust, emerged a rumpled and vengeful Captain Percival Graves.

 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *brainstorming* How am I going to depict Credence killing Mary Lou without using magic?  
> Also Me: …  
> Me: …  
> Also Me: …  
> Me: …  
> Also Me: …fillet the bitch.


	19. Chapter 19

 

Even with colossal sailors standing on either side of him, Captain Graves somehow managed to look more threatening and powerful than every other human being gathered on the main deck. His dark glare moved over each and every member of the small group huddling near the lifeboat, his frown deepening when Newt moved to stand in front of Credence and placed his arm firmly in front of the Goldstein sisters. When his eyes finally fell on the Selkie’s worried face, his face grew impossibly darker with rage.

 

“Well, well, well. We seem to have a few jumpers, gentlemen,” Commander Shaw drawled as he sauntered up to the back of the line. “Should’ve known you’d be involved, Goldstein. You’re always turning up where you’re least wanted.”

 

“Oh, hello, Pot. My name’s Kettle, have me met?” the older Nereid growled. Newt tried and failed to suppress a smirk, though it was short-lived as Graves folded his hands behind his back, the perfect picture of a trustworthy officer, and stepped forward from the line.

 

“Credence…” he said softly. Newt moved further in front of the Selkie, and was pleasantly surprised when Jacob and the sisters joined him. Their protective show of loyalty was all for naught as Graves continued to speak as though they weren’t even there. “What are you doing with these traitors? I thought I could always count on you. I put my trust in you, and this is how you repay me?”

 

A soft, sharp intake of air smothered itself in the fabric on Newt’s back, and it was all the British man needed to unsheathe his anger at the one person who deserved it most of all.

 

“That’s enough!” Newt cried angrily. “You may fool everyone else, but I’ve about had it with your nonsense, Grindelwald!”

 

A hush fell over the gathering sailors slowly adding to the commotion, with most of their expressions running the gamut from confused to offended on their Captain’s behalf. Surprisingly, those with their weapons drawn did not even flinch, and stared defiantly at Newt instead. Graves’ lips curled upwards into a smirk for only a second, before all traces of amusement were locked beneath the mask once more.

 

“That’s quite an accusation, Mr. Scamander,” he said. Deep, horrified whispers traveled through the armed mob, but nobody seemed immediately inclined to react or respond. “Are you suggesting that I am, in fact, a pirate?”

 

“I’m not _suggesting_ , you pompous arsehole! I’m _telling them_ , full stop!” Newt shouted. The crew members hovering closest to their huddled group flinched back in surprise at the magizoologist’s sudden volume and vulgarity, but his righteous fury did nothing to enlighten them to Newt’s cause. Thankfully, he was beyond caring about such trivial things. “You used me and everyone else here for your sick illegal dealings, and I refuse to be part of it any longer!”

 

“I hope you wouldn’t be so foolish as to accuse me of such atrocities without any proof, sir,” Graves said, his tone almost disappointed as he glared at Newt’s rapidly reddening face.

 

“You know damn well I don’t have any—you made sure of that. But you know what? I don’t really care! I’m not going to stand by and let you hurt innocent creatures just so you can feel superior to something!” he hissed.

 

“Enough of this,” Graves said with a sigh. He motioned the armed line of sailors to move forward with a wave of his hand. “Seize them.”

 

“With pleasure, Captain!” Commander Shaw said with a smirk, forcibly pushing himself in between Graves’ loyal line of men and moving directly towards the fuming magizoologist.

 

Just as he stepped past the line of raised guns, a sickening spear of blue lightning, larger than any that Newt had ever seen before, came crashing down from the heavens and struck the Commander’s body with a flash. His cries of agony were lost beneath the ear-splitting scream of the pulses of electricity lighting the crew’s startled faces and sending pulses of static up Newt’s legs. As darkness spread across the night sky and blotted out the light of the stars, Commander Shaw’s charred remains fell in a crumpled, smoking heap at the feet of Graves’ minions. The ship rocked against the sudden choppiness of the waves, and thunder rumbled deep into their bones.

 

Graves glanced at their surroundings with growing panic and confusion, and he turned to stare at where Credence hid behind Newt’s protective form. When his eyes fell to the dark pelt draped across Credence’s shoulders, his entire demeanor froze. In his shock and horror, Newt took a risk, turning his head slowly away from the guns pointed at him and his friends and glancing back at Credence’s face.

 

His heart skipped in his chest, both out of fear and something else he didn’t dare to name.

 

He hadn’t believed Credence capable of such fury. His normally sculpted, almost feminine features were contorted into sharp angles and deep shadows. His eyes were practically black beneath a veil of white, wide and full of betrayal and bitterness. His pelt was twisted in shaking fists, fluttering in the harsh winds as rain began to pour and drench each and every body on the main deck.

 

“Credence!” Graves called out, all sense of confidence vanished from his body as he backed away from the Selkie and his protectors. “Credence, please!”

 

When the other sailors saw how frightened their leader had suddenly become, they dropped their weapons and panicked. Men practically twice Newt’s size scattered across the deck, crying out for the other lifeboats to be readied and loaded. Newt watched with growing trepidation as monstrous waves of contrasting shades of black slammed against the sides of the ship. He vaguely saw Tina and Queenie cling to one another as rain drenched their clothes and wind tore at their hair.

 

‘ ** _I trusted you_** ,’ a sudden voice whispered across the air, seeping into their ears like poison and magically clear despite the raging storm around them. Newt gasped, turning fully to face Credence as he continued to speak through gritted teeth. ‘ ** _I thought you were my friend. That you were different. But you USED me._** ’

 

Another bolt of lightning stabbed into the sea around them, the force of the impact throwing Jacob and Newt to the deck in a flailing of limbs. Newt vaguely heard the girls scream, the physical embodiment of the Selkie’s vengeance growing stronger with every passing second. Despite all logic, despite their entire world falling to pieces, the foolish pirate continued to plead with his former prisoner like the coward he truly was.

 

“This power you possess, Credence, it’s a miracle! Just look at what you can do!” Graves shouted. Credence stood over Newt like a silent beacon of rage, firm and unmoving in spite of the thrashing ship below their feet. “Stay with me! Think of what we could achieve together!”

 

‘ ** _My power…that’s what you’ve always cared about, isn’t it? My power…and nothing else._** ’

 

Newt whimpered at the shattered quiver in the Selkie’s disembodied voice, and it was with all his remaining strength that he pushed aside his desire to reach out and touch the poor man in a silent gesture of support. Credence was far too gone, far too immersed in his revenge to notice the bodies that had begun to fly over the railings and plunge screaming into the waves. Newt grabbed onto Jacob’s jacket sleeve and heaved him up from the rocking deck.

 

“Everyone into the lifeboat! It’s our only chance!” he screamed, holding out a hand to the cowering Nereids huddled in a tight, entwined ball a few feet away. Tina raised her head just enough to stare at his outstretched hand, visibly swallowing her fear and reaching out to take it in one of her own.

 

Together they crawled up to the railing, grabbing blindly at their only means of escape and struggling to hold the lifeboat still. Tina was the first to jump in, stuffing the sacks they had packed and Newt’s beloved suitcase beneath the plank seats to ensure they wouldn’t fly off into oblivion. Next, Newt and Jacob helped Queenie, who was weeping and grasping the sides of her face so harshly that small beads of blood had begun to spring up from beneath her fingernails.

 

“You don’t have to do this! You can control it, Credence!” Graves shouted from behind them. As Jacob followed Queenie into the lifeboat, Newt turned to watch the final events of the night unfold.

 

The wind dulled to a painful groan, and Credence raised his head with glare that all but ensured the pirate’s painful demise.

 

“I don’t think I want to, Captain Graves.”

 

Newt had believed that the storm raging around them was the worst that he had ever encountered. A small, optimistic part of him genuinely believed that they were already within the worst part of the magical tempest. He was proven pathetically wrong on both counts when Credence tapped into the full brunt of his powers and unleashed vengeful hell upon the unsuspecting MACUSA.

 

Three bolts of lightning fell simultaneously in the center of the ship, crashing through the wooden planks like a knife through dry, old parchment. The damp teak split and distended into all directions, the jagged tips scorched black with heat and sending broken splinters of wood flying into the air. The foundation of the ship made a sickening crack, and Newt cried out in alarm as the main mast toppled down onto the other side of the deck with a deep wail.

 

The MACUSA was sinking fast, and at this rate there would be no survivors.

 

“Credence!” Newt shouted, pushing himself away from the railing and towards the place where the Selkie stood.

 

“Newt!” Tina screamed pleadingly, but Newt only had eyes for the source of the storm. Credence’s entire body shook, his eyes glazed over and almost completely white with the force of his pain manifesting itself outside of his skin. Being careful not to stand too close, else Credence might panic and lash out without thinking about who his target really was, the magizoologist threw himself in front of the Selkie and held his hands up to show he meant no harm.

 

“Credence! Can you hear me?” While his voice seemed lost under the roar of the wind and the dying cries of the ship as it broke apart, Credence still blinked and moved his piercing gaze to Newt instead of Graves. “Credence, the ship is sinking! We need to get out of here, before we all drown! Will you come with us?”

 

Credence’s eyes widened, the dark pelt bunching as he held it tightly around his neck as he slowly slipped out of his stupor and took in the destruction occurring by his hand.

 

Just as Newt extended his hand, offering him a steady anchor in his lowest, darkest moment, two strong hands grabbed fistfuls of the British man’s coat behind his back and used them to throw him roughly to the ground. The same two hands wrapped themselves around his neck as he tried to right himself, cutting off his precious oxygen and slamming his head back against the wooden deck. Through the stabbing pain and blurry vision, Newt gazed up into the face of a seething Grindelwald—his dark hair falling in dripping strands over his burning eyes and his teeth bared with unconcealed venom.

 

“You think I’ll let you escape, you useless maggot?!” he growled, slamming Newt’s head down once more with even greater force. All sense of propriety and manipulation about his true identity were cast aside, his thirst for violence rearing its ugly head upon the signs of imminent, unavoidable death. Newt tried to push the other man off of him, but could barely concentrate through the growing agony and disorientation. “You’ve ruined everything! If I go down, then so do you!”

 

The MACUSA continued its descent into the surging waves, with sails falling in torn pieces and lightning continuing to stab at any parts of the ship it could reach. It was during one of the heart-dropping plummets into the sea that a small swell of water broke onto the deck and flew straight at where the two men grappled on the ground. As if by magic—no doubt by magic—the stream slammed into Graves’ side and threw him off of the struggling magizoologist with barely any effort at all. With no ropes to tie him down, no masts or railing to cling to, the pirate flew off into the air with a weak scream.

 

The water drained back into the sea, retreating with the Captain in tow and pulling him deep into the waiting darkness.

 

Newt’s breath returned to him in agonizing gasps, salt water bursting into his mouth as the sea continued to rise underneath him. He barely comprehended his body’s movements as Credence ran to him and pulled him onto his feet, dragging him desperately to the lifeboat and holding him up with all of his remaining strength. Tina and Jacob reached out and hauled Newt down to collapse beside them, and the magizoologist was just aware enough to realize that the Selkie had not moved to join them.

 

“Credence!” he croaked, but the pale young man was already backing away from their swinging vessel.

 

Dark eyes traveled upward and found the creaking tethers keeping the boat aloft above the sea. A steady hand reached up, the other still holding fast to his pelt, and slashed across the open air. A small, almost gentle stream of lightning headed his call, summoned down from the clouds and severing the tethers instantly by burning the fibers to dust. The four humans screamed in terror as the lifeboat fell unguided through the air and down the length of the remaining floating wreckage of the USS MACUSA.

 

Darkness enveloped them, roars of white noise filled their ears, and Credence’s name fell weakly from Newt’s lips as his head slammed against the side of the lifeboat.

 


	20. Chapter 20

 

The first thing that Newt felt when he returned to reality was the intense throbbing spreading from the back of his skull and down his neck. The heavy numbness of his limbs was next, followed shortly after by an abundance of salt encrusted on his taste buds and skin. His eyes cracked open as a bright ray of sunshine fell directly onto his face, and he was shocked when thousands of grains of white sand filled his vision.

 

He forced his head up just enough to take a broader look at his surroundings, slowly absorbing the expansive beach and gentle foaming waters crashing on the shore. Not a few feet away from where he lay in a crumpled heap was an equally crumpled Tina, curled into a tight ball and covered with speckles of sand and seaweed. On his other side, clinging to one another as if they would both disappear the moment they let each other go, were an unconscious Queenie and Jacob lying inside the lifeboat. Seagulls cried in the distance and the sea roared beyond the line of the shallows, but no other signs of human life could be seen for miles.

 

“Tina! Tina!” Newt croaked, painstakingly using his elbows and increasing strength to drag his uncooperative body across the sand and up to the Nereid’s side. He nudged her shoulder and then eased two fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. Thankfully, while it was weaker than he would’ve liked, a steady heartbeat thumped beneath his fingertips.

 

Comforted by her survival, he turned himself around and repeated his journey to check on the cuddling couple in the boat. Their hearts were equally steady, and it was with a deep sigh of relief that Newt turned his attention to the few possessions that had managed to survive the chaos of their escape. His case lay skewed but intact at the bottom of the boat, practically calling out to his as he reached for its handle.

 

“Oh, thank the heavens! That could have been quite catastrophic,” he murmured to himself. He set the case flat on the sand and opened the lid with bated breath, grinning with boundless joy when he heard the familiar cries of his beloved family below. He threw his long coat onto the hook in his shed, downed an entire pitcher of fresh water, and set about throwing food into each and every one of his creatures’ habitats as quickly as he was able. The amounts of meat, pellets, and insects he gave each of them was much, much more than they probably needed, but it was the least he could do to make up for his unwilling neglect.

 

Despite his desire to stay within his sanctuary and spend countless hours among his creatures, Newt accepted that there was much more urgent business to take care of and carefully brought a fresh pitcher of water up the ladder and out into the world beyond the case. Tina was the first to revive at his gentle encouragement, sucking down impressively deep gulps of water before flailing her way to the boat to check on her little sister’s health. Queenie and Jacob woke more slowly, although Newt suspected that it was due to their reluctance to being parted rather than physical fatigue.

 

“Where are we?” Tina wondered, pushing herself onto her feet and taking in their surroundings. Newt sat with his back against the lifeboat with the pitcher clutched between two stiff hands, his short burst of adrenaline fading into a dark slump of despair. His short investigations had yielded no obvious clues as to where they had washed up, but there was one thing he knew for certain—Credence was not with them. “Maybe there’s a town nearby. We couldn’t have been too far off the coast, right?”

 

“I wouldn’t think so,” Jacob said, stretching out his back and dusting off the front of his old jacket. Queenie, meanwhile, pushed her frizzy curls out of her face and reached down to put a gentle hand on Newt’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t blame yourself, Newt. It was his choice,” she said softly. Newt glanced up at her, his eyes stinging at the soft compassion in her deep blue eyes, and quickly looked away. “Besides, you helped him! You gave him back his skin. There aren’t many humans in this world who would do that, you know.”

 

He chose to remain silent, knowing she would read his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. While he didn’t regret giving Credence back his pelt, he couldn't help but feel as though he had still failed the Selkie somehow. He hadn’t seen Credence abandon the ship and return safely to the sea, and while he could hope and dream until his imagination ran dry, he would never be able to dispel the lingering uncertainty that haunted him like a vengeful ghost.

 

‘ _What if he didn’t make it? What if he couldn’t get his skin back on in time? What if he was trapped underneath the wreckage and drowned? What if? What if?!_ ’

 

“Oh, sweetie…” Queenie sighed, leaning further down out of the lifeboat and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Tina and Jacob stopped their wandering and halted their conversation to stare sadly at where Newt and Queenie sat. Instead of turning away like he expected, however, they did not hesitate to turn back and join them. The four friends curled up together, with Newt in the center of it all, and watched the floating white clouds pass them by as they silently mourned the young prisoner they had fought so hard to save.

 

Eventually, their bodies began to protest the lack of nourishment and movement, and they gathered their limited belongings to make their way inland. The beach was quite expansive and clean, and it was not long before they came across various planked docks and bridges leading up into a bustling town of fish markets and food stalls. Human and Magical individuals went about their day in rushing crowds as the small group maneuvered themselves deeper and deeper into the heart of the town. It was remarkably warm, even without the thousands of bodies pressing in on them from all sides, and there were barely any clouds overhead.

 

Thanks to quick investigative maneuvers on Tina’s part, they found themselves struck dumb at the news that the storm had washed them onto the coasts of Jacksonville, Florida.

 

“Florida?” Jacob asked, his voice shrill with disbelief. After he took another silent moment to relax, his mustache drooped as a thoughtful frown spread across his face. “Huh…I always wanted to vacation here. Never thought I’d get the chance.”

 

“You should see Greece! It’s absolutely gorgeous!” Queenie said with a smile. Tina barely suppressed an eye roll from where she stood next to Newt, who was staring at his surroundings with almost morbid curiosity. Large stone and brick buildings towered over them the further into the city they walked, and without any sort of guide or plan of action, he feared they would soon be lost forever in the hustle and bustle.

 

“What should we do now?” Jacob asked, switching his battered sack from one shoulder to the other. Newt sighed and leaned against a nearby wall, staring up at the sky as a dull throb of pain began to creep into his temples.

 

“Maybe we can hitch a ride back to New York on a sailboat, or something,” Tina pointed out, though her voice was far from its normal confidence. “We need to let Admiral Picquery know what happened.”

 

“Are we going to tell her the truth?” Queenie asked, earning a slightly sharp look from her sister.

 

“Of course we’ll tell her the truth!” she said exasperatedly. Newt raised his eyes and looked at his friends with a crestfallen expression that betrayed just how exhausted he truly was.

 

“We’ll give her the facts but not the details. A sudden storm hit us, it was too much for the ship to take—we were the only ones to escape with our lives. The Captain went down with the MACUSA,” he murmured. Tina shifted uncomfortably, looking back and forth between Queenie’s thoughtful face and Newt’s despondent frown.

 

“But—shouldn’t we—”

 

“We don’t have proof he was Grindelwald, Tina,” Newt explained. “They wouldn’t believe us…besides, what good would it do anyway? The man is dead.”

 

“But he’ll be hailed as a martyr! He’ll be honored as a brave and honorable man! Is that what you want?” Tina snapped, causing Jacob to step forward with a calming hand stretched out to her.

 

“It’s not about what we want, Tina. It’s about what’ll sell,” he said softly. “Newt’s right. What’s done is done. Graves—or, GrindelDick, or whatever—can’t hurt anyone else anymore. Let’s just put it behind us and move on.” 

 

The four of them stood in heavy silence, until one by one they all nodded in agreement. They moved together across the city until they stumbled upon the Port of Jacksonville, which stood proud and crowded with pristine white vessels lined in neat rows all along the harbor. Newt allowed Queenie and Tina to sweet talk the men manning the harbor, standing in the shadows with Jacob and munching on an apple he had pulled from his case.

 

“How much stuff you got down there, man?” Jacob asked, staring at the apple with curiosity. Newt shrugged, leaning against a wooden post and twirling the fruit in absentminded circles.

 

“Enough to get me by.”

 

“Is everyone ok? None of the creatures got hurt, did they?” The baker glanced at the case, warming Newt’s heart with the honest concern in his eyes.

 

“Everyone’s well and accounted for. Thankfully, Graves didn’t have time to trade them off…or worse,” Newt whispered. Jacob nodded as the girls returned, looking both relieved and troubled in equal measure.

 

“Okay, we have good news and bad news,” Tina said.

 

“The good news is that we sent a missive to New York, and it should arrive in a few days!” Queenie grinned at her success, and Jacob practically melted as he stared at her flushing face.

 

“The bad news is that the next ship to New York isn’t boarding for another three days and the tickets are going to cost us,” Tina sighed, placing her hands dejectedly on her hips. “So unless somebody has a bag of gold coins hidden in their pockets, we’re stuck here.”

 

“I have a bag of gold coins under my bed,” Newt said. The others blinked at him, some in confusion and one in skepticism.

 

“Well, it’s not going to do us much good, seeing how your entire cabin’s at the bottom of the ocean!” Tina groused. Newt shook his head and reached down to grab his suitcase.

 

“No, not that one. My actual bed,” he explained, lifting the case for Tina to see. The Nereid stared at the battered luggage, all emotion and energy draining from her face.

 

“…I remember when I used to be surprised by things like that.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Jacob asked, folding his jacket and pushing it down into his sack. Newt shook his head, sitting on a bench near the docks and watching the people wander by. Boarding for the ship to New York wouldn’t begin for another half hour or so, and the Goldstein sisters had promised to return once they had cleaned themselves up a bit.

 

It was almost frustrating, Newt thought, how each and every person who breathed the same air as him would never know what trials and heartaches he had endured the past few days. They would go on with their own simple lives, ignorant and content…but where did that leave him?

 

“I’m heading back out into the field. I’ve got some more research to do before I submit my final manuscript,” he explained. Jacob huffed a quiet laugh, throwing himself onto the bench beside his British friend with a poorly hidden groan.

 

“And I bet you want to go searching for a certain Selkie, too.” Newt’s head slowly creeped up, his eyes widening and yet never leaving the floor. Jacob, now more attuned to Newt’s movements and accepting of all, smirked in response. “I’m not the brightest pastry in the batch, but I ain’t a total moron, either. You two were smitten. No doubt about it.”

 

“…smitten is a strong word,” Newt whispered, folding his hands into the depths of his coat and refusing to look at Jacob for even a moment.

 

“What would you call it, then?” he asked. Newt sighed, and took a long moment to organize his thoughts before answering.

 

“It’s like…reading the blurb on the back of a novel,” he said, sighing again when he felt Jacob’s curious eyes on his face. “…it sounds wonderful, and your interests might be peaked and you might even get a few pages in…but then you get distracted, or the book gets lost, and suddenly you realize that you might never get the chance to finish that book, ever. And for all you know, it could have been the greatest book you would’ve ever read in your entire life…but now…”

 

“…I’m sorry, Newt. He seemed like a good kid,” Jacob said softly. “And who knows! Maybe he made it out of there without even a scratch on him.”

 

“…I hope so.”

 

The two men lapsed into silence once again, letting the sounds of blaring horns and buzzing conversations fill their ears. The Nereids appeared a few minutes later, their hair freshly combed and their faces freshly powdered. Jacob silently jumped up and offered his seat to Queenie, who instead encouraged him to sit back down and balanced her own body daintily on his armrest.

 

“Have you got everything you need, Newt?” she asked, draping her arm around Jacob’s shoulders so nonchalantly that it took him a moment to notice. Ignoring Jacob’s impending joyful implosion, Newt forced a grin on his face and lightly tapped his suitcase where it rested at his feet.

 

“I’m all set.”

 

“And you have all of your papers in order?” Tina asked, crossing her arms with a small smile. Newt offered her a crooked grin and a nod in return. “Good. Hopefully the southern waters will be nicer to you.”

 

“Will you girls be assigned to another ship?” Jacob asked. Queenie’s nose scrunched up in distaste, but Tina had no such objections to the offered idea.

 

“Admiral Picquery is fair, and she knows I do my job well. Hopefully, she’ll have a new assignment for me,” she said. Queenie smiled at Jacob, her cheeks only slightly pink.

 

“I think I’ll stay on the mainland for a while. What about you, honey?” she asked. Jacob’s euphoria evaporated almost instantly, and he sighed as he averted his eyes and shrugged. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot! You needed that job for your bakery.”

 

“Yeah, well…easy come, easy go, I guess,” Jacob chuckled, though his heart clearly wasn’t in it. Newt blinked out of his reverie and grabbed at his case, while the others watched with confusion and no doubt a small amount of trepidation. Newt opened his case with a flourish, sending poor Tina scuttling backwards defensively, and reached into the case until he found what he was looking for.

 

“I forgot! Here!” A small bag wrapped in twine emerged from the case in his hand, and he threw it onto Jacob’s lap with a thud. The baker winced at the weight, wrapping his arms around the sack and glaring at Newt in disbelief. Queenie, ever able to hear his secrets, gasped and looked at Newt’s gift with eyes wide in wonder.

 

“Occamy eggs?” she asked.

 

“That’s right. Made of silver, remember?” He turned to Jacob, who was staring at him with an open jaw and eyes alight with growing comprehension. “You are wasted in a canning factory, Jacob. You can use these as collateral for your bakery.”

 

“I—But—Newt, I couldn’t—”

 

“I insist. It’s the least I could do, after all you’ve done for me,” Newt said. Tears filled the baker’s eyes, and he could do nothing but hold the sack of silver close like a precious child. Behind them, the ship’s siren sounded, calling the first passengers to board. Queenie lifted herself gracefully off of the armrest, glided over to where Newt sat, and coaxed him into standing and receiving a firm but gentle hug.

 

“You better write to us! We’ll be waiting,” she said with a grin. Newt smiled shyly back, tapping her shoulders as she stepped away. Jacob set aside the sack of eggshells, pushing himself off the bench and pulling Newt roughly into a tight embrace. The magizoologist grunted against the surprising amount of force, but lost his will rather quickly and wrapped his own arms around his friend.

 

“Thank you, Newt. For everything!” Jacob whispered, his voice wet with joy and sorrow.

 

“And you, Jacob. I hope you get your bakery,” Newt said. The two men parted with some amount of difficulty, and showing no hesitation in the slightest, Queenie looped Jacob’s arm around her own and helped him with his bags as they made their way towards the line of passengers boarding the ship.

 

Tina and Newt were left alone, standing side by side as they watched the two lovebirds depart.

 

“They’re good together,” Tina said, shocking Newt with how gentle and happy her voice sounded.

 

“I’d say so.”

 

“…will you be alright? Out there all by yourself?” she asked, and Newt couldn’t help but smile. For all of her rough edges, for all the biting remarks she made, Newt never doubted that deep down, she was as sweet as her sister when it came to those she watched over.

 

“I’ll be fine, I promise. And I’ll be sure to write you,” he said. Tina’s cheeks grew to a soft pink hue, and her eyes grew glossy as she stared into Newt’s.

 

“I’ll watch for your book. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.” Newt nodded at the affection in her voice, reaching down and plucking his case from the ground.

 

“I’ll send you a copy, if I may.”

 

“I’d like that,” she said. After a brief hesitation, she opened her mouth to say more, but the boat’s horn blared once again. They looked towards the fading line of bodies shuffling up the gangplank, and they knew that their time together had come to an end. The two of them shared one last weak smile, before Tina reached down to grab her own belongings, turned without another word, and made her way to the ship.

 

Newt forced himself to turn the opposite way, walking down the docks towards a more secluded area of single-handler sailboats floating in the harbor. He brushed away the lingering tears on his lashes, comforting himself in knowing that he would see his friends again someday.

 

As he came up upon the anchored sailboat he had purchased for his journey, paid for in full thanks to a generous donation by his brother’s bank account and a considerable discount from the owner chatting with Queenie, he removed his coat and placed it on top of his case in a corner of the small cabin in the center of the boat. He checked that all of his equipment was stocked up and functioning properly, hoisted the sail, and began making his way out into the Gulf to sail around the tropics.

 

With any luck, he would make it close enough to Arizona to release Frank back where he belonged.

 

As the Port of Jacksonville grew smaller and hazy behind him, Newt allowed his head to fall back and his eyes to travel up to the sky. The sun was bright and warm, the sea choppy but welcoming, and after so long worrying about who to trust and who to fear, he finally felt himself let go. His creatures were safe, his new friends would wait for him, and even if he never found out precisely what happened to Credence Barebone, he could sleep contently knowing that he had done everything he could to save him.

 

Just as his eyes fell to a flock of seagulls traveling amongst the clouds, a small, deep bark echoed off the starboard side of his boat. His head snapped around, his eyes searching for the source, and among the rippling waves he spotted a dark, sleek seal poking up from beneath the surface. Large black wet eyes stared up at him, and Newt felt a warm tingle of ancient magic pulse through his very blood.

 

He gasped, covering his mouth with a shaking hand as fresh tears clouded his vision. He bent forward over the side of the boat, desperate to get a closer glimpse of the seal and confirm his deepest hopes. The seal slowly propelled itself forward, repeating its deep call and not once breaking its eye contact. Newt removed his hand from his mouth and extended it slowly into the water.

 

The seal fearlessly rubbed its face into his hand until Newt was cradling its cheek—a small, intimate gesture that the magizoologist had done so many times in the past few days with only one very special person.

 

“Hello, Credence.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GrindelDick is my official nickname for the dark wizard. I regret nothing. XD


	21. Chapter 21

Credence could not say for sure what it felt like to pass on into the next world, but this all-consuming feeling, this burning freedom that bled from his every pore, was undoubtedly what coming back to life felt like.

 

His Human clothing fell away in the harsh winds of the storm he had created, torn and forgotten as he pulled his pelt around his shoulders and over his head. The ship below his feet finally sank beneath the waves, and darkness enveloped them as the water closed in and fell as a salty, thrashing blanket. His limbs went numb as his body reformed itself, filling his sealskin and allowing the sea to pull him down into the deep. The first sweet notes of the water’s vibrant hum was all the invitation he needed to dive in, curling his body and sinking into the welcoming darkness below.

 

Deeper and deeper he swam, leaving his troubles and pain floating with the bobbing wreckage of the USS MACUSA.

 

Time fell away as he drifted through the water, its cold embrace smooth and comforting against his skin. He swam through miles of open darkness, gently swayed through strands of prickly seaweed, and danced among countless vibrant schools of fish until his lungs threatened to burst with the lack of oxygen. Trips to the surface were few and quick, partially out of desperation to make up for lost time and mostly due to the lingering fear that the ghosts of his captors would snatch him out of the sea once more. He munched on passing fish when he was able, filling his belly close to bursting and floating aimlessly in the caressing currents pulling his through the ocean.

 

After what had felt like countless peaceful weeks, but in reality had only been three short days, the loneliness began to sink in.

 

Most male Selkies separated from their families and set out on their own during their teen years, staying in small herds when the hunting season arrived but never forming permanent communities. They hopped from island to island, herd to herd, until their luck ran out and they fell prey to a larger predator or old age. He had separated from his mother at fifteen, slightly older than was the custom, and had managed to make it out on his own for three uneventful years before he had met Percival Graves on a rocky island somewhere off the North Atlantic coast.

 

After that, Credence had had no choice but to surround himself with tight crowds of Human people, always being watched or bullied or backed into a corner to weep. He had grown complacent in his capture, comfortable with a chorus of voices he couldn’t shut out or escape, and despite the sea’s tranquil song, he found himself drowning in a silence that he could no longer appreciate. The water was too quiet, too vast, and as sickening as it was to admit, he realized that he missed certain humans from his time on the MACUSA.

 

He missed Modesty’s innocence and boundless enthusiasm, but he knew that she had perished with the rest of the crew in the storm he had wrought. There was a small collection of sailors, all nameless and fleeting, that had treated him decently that he regretted killing out of hand. And then there were the Goldstein sisters, so gentle and beautiful in their own individual ways, who had always given him a comforting smile whenever they passed him by.

 

And Newt…oh, he missed that man so much his bones ached.

 

The first night he had spent floating half-asleep in the rocky alcove of a tiny islet, staring up at the speckled stars and reveling in the lack of impending chores or restraints. The second night was spent hauled out on a flattened rock, letting the cool winter air bite at his skin and soothe his memories as they played in a chaotic loop within his dreams. The third night, after fighting what he knew to be true and inevitable, he finally allowed himself to cry at everything that he had lost and gained and then thrown away in his pursuit of freedom.

 

Lying pliant and alone, his deep rasps and trilling cries echoed off the rippling waters as Newt Scamander’s kind face haunted his entire being.

 

Had they all gotten out of the storm safely? Did their boat ever reach the shore he had asked the sea to deliver them to? Was Newt alive after all they had gone through?

 

Or, in his righteous anger, had he killed the only Human he had ever truly cared about?

 

The pain of never knowing forced his body into action, and it took him very little time to find the land where the lifeboat was meant to be delivered. White, glistening beaches lined the shore, with countless figures walking through the crashing waves and sailing in their boats. He nervously creeped along the hulls that glided further out to sea, sticking his head out only long enough to glimpse the faces of the Humans controlling them before diving back down into the safety of the waters.

 

He couldn’t tell how long he searched, nor how many faces he saw that looked nothing like the Human he had become so fond of so quickly. Boats of all sizes passed him by, until the afternoon sun rose to its height and the number of sea-goers began to dwindle. He tried not to let his disappointment and worry fester, keeping his body moving through the warm waters and hiding in the shadows when he was able.

 

He almost missed the small sailboat, unobtrusive as it was, that drifted separately from the pack and out towards the southern clouds. He honestly hadn’t believed that it would prove any different from the rest of his previous failures, but his determination to leave no stone unturned led him forward anyway. He almost didn’t recognize the unruly copper hair and rolled up sleeves, if only because it was almost too good to be true.

 

But then the man tending the boat turned at just the right angle, his freckles vibrant and dark against the clear blue skies and white clouds, and the desperate Selkie practically drowned with relief.

 

 _Newt_.

 

He was here!

 

He was alive! 

 

The British man leaned back into the seat at the back of the sailboat, his eyes drifting upwards and unfocused as the wind carried him out to open water. His face was slightly sunburnt, his clothes slightly wrinkled, and his face—normally so full of life and energy—was shrouded by sorrow. Despite Credence’s joy at his good fortune, he had to wonder what or who the magizoologist would mourn so deeply.

 

After basking in his solace for a few brief moments, Credence slowly breached the water’s surface with a nervous sniff.

 

‘ ** _Newt!_** ’ he called, knowing it would only sound like a barking babble to the poor man’s Human ears.

 

The freckled sailor’s head snapped up as their eyes locked together. A multitude of emotions passed through his expression in quick succession, from shock to sorrow to happiness, and then to a heartbroken relief that Credence felt all the way down to his bones. Newt’s crystal green eyes grew wet with tears as he covered his mouth to stifle a sob, and suddenly Credence realized just how much his safety had meant to this wonderful, simple Human.

 

Newt bent forward over the side of the boat, reaching a shaking hand out towards where the Selkie floated as tears dripped from his eyelashes. Credence propelled himself forward through the water with his eyes fixated on the unconcealed joy written all over the Human’s face. He buried his snout into the outstretched hand, breathing deeply and inhaling the fading scent of oil and hay. 

 

“Hello, Credence,” Newt whispered, his grin wide and radiant. The Selkie purred at hearing his Human name so softly spoken, and it shocked him how right it felt.

 

At first, he had believed the name a curse, a symbol of the control the Humans had over every aspect of his life. It was a cruel irony—a name meaning ‘a belief in truth’ when his entire existence was a falsehood designed by his captors. But then this wonderful being before him had taken that curse and transformed it into something holy, something fortunate and worthy of pride. 

 

Obscurial had died the day he’d lost himself to pretty words and false promises.

 

Credence had been born the day Newt Scamander first smiled at him.

 

“I’m so glad you’re safe! I thought you might’ve—” Newt said, shaking his head and brushing the tears away with his free hand. “It doesn’t matter. Look at you!”

 

Credence grunted bashfully, sinking back into the water and propelling himself around the boat in graceful circles. He vaguely heard Newt laugh from above the surface, and it took every ounce of control he had to refrain from leaping and flipping into the open air. After everything he had done, after all of the people he had killed, at least this one beautiful creature still celebrated that he was alive.

 

He coasted back up to the side of the boat, sniffling water and debris as he went. Newt watched him swim with his gentle smile still in place.

 

“Much better than that stuffy ship, isn’t it? Are you planning on trying to find your family?” he asked. Credence continued his aimless floating, thinking the question over carefully. He had left his birth family behind long ago, and had never planned on returning even before he had been captured. And, despite all hopes to the contrary, he doubted they would be overly enthused to see him after all this time away. The ocean was a large place, filled with magic and wonders, and he would no doubt find a herd he could join without too much fuss.

 

But then…where would that leave Newt? Where would he go? When would they ever see each other again if they went their separate ways?

 

The magic beneath his skin pulsed at the thought of being left behind, of losing the one unrelenting light in a world of fear and darkness, and once he listened to its plea he found that there was hardly any choice in the matter at all.

 

He dove down below the sailboat in a steep arc, increasing his speed until he breached the surface on the other side of the boat. He braced himself for impact, his stomach bouncing on the flat surface of the boat’s bow and his hind flippers hanging off the port side. His sharp grunt was drowned out by Newt’s startled yelp, and if he still had lips he would have smiled at the sudden burst of motion coming from the opposite end of the boat.

 

“Credence! Oh my—are you alright?! Are you hurt? Why did you do that?” Credence rolled over onto his side, wriggling until his entire body lay comfortably across the bow. Newt adjusted a few lines and handles that Credence couldn’t name if he tried, teetering his way around the cabin and up beside the lounging Selkie.

 

‘ ** _I’m fine,_** ’ he chirped, trying his best to make his seal voice as comforting as he was able. Newt sighed in response, crossing his legs and taking a closer look at the soft pelt he had risked so much to recover. Credence allowed him to stare, basking in the sun and trying not to squirm.

 

“…I can’t always promise I’ll stay near the ocean, Credence. I don’t think…” Newt said somberly. Credence rolled back onto his stomach, raising his head as far as he could and pleading silently with his eyes. Slowly, as though he were afraid Credence would snap at his fingers, Newt reached out and ran his hand down the Selkie’s pelt in a gentle caress. “You should be out _there_ doing…whatever it is Selkies do. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

 

Credence adjusted his body’s position, leaning forward and boldly placing his head on Newt’s leg. If he were to be honest with Newt and himself, at the time, he hadn't known what he’d wanted. Freedom, certainly, which included the return of his pelt—but he’d never entertained the idea that such a gift was even possible to receive. He had never dreamed of what would happen after. He had never planned on living long enough to see that day arrive. 

 

Now that he was himself again, now that the future was suddenly immeasurable and bright, he found that he wanted to stay with Newt for as long as the Human would have him.

 

Newt stayed quiet for a few minutes, his gentle hands running smooth lines up and down Credence’s back as the sailboat drifted aimlessly out beyond the harbor. Despite the instinctual inclination to do so, Credence refused to fall asleep in the warmth of the sun and stayed unmoving at the Human’s side. As the winds began to blow with increasingly strength, Newt sighed and nodded in defeat.

 

“Alright. You can travel with me, if you like,” he said. Credence warbled thankfully and pushed his snout roughly into Newt’s side to show his gratitude. “Alright, alright! Before you get too excited, I have some rules!”

 

The Selkie stopped his onslaught immediately, sitting back with growing trepidation. Rules were the same as orders, if only slightly altered in their appearance, and he had had his fill of following orders against his will. Granted, Newt couldn’t force him to follow any rules he put in place without possessing full ownership of his pelt, but Credence couldn’t deny that he was slightly disappointed with how quickly history seemed to be repeating itself.

 

“First, I am under no circumstances allowed to touch your pelt unless you say so,” Newt said, his normally carefree grin nowhere to be seen. “Second, if we ever happen to get in trouble, I want you to run away. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt again. And third—and this is _extremely_ important, Credence—if I ever do something that makes you uncomfortable, or if you don’t want to do something, please tell me. I don’t always think things through sometimes, and I might hurt you without meaning to. But I would never do anything like that on purpose, and I want you to tell me so that I can stop.”

 

Credence stared at him in shock as the words sunk in. His vision grew hazy, his throat squeezing as silent sobs fought his control.

 

How?

 

_How?!_

 

How was he so _good_?! Why was he so wonderful, taking every dark thought that crossed Credence’s mind and doing everything in his power to make reality the opposite? How could he treat Credence so preciously, with an amount of respect that no other being on the planet could ever muster for a single second in their entire lives?

 

Was this the Gods granting him peace? Was this divine forgiveness? An apology for watching him endure such torment for five long years? What had he done to please them so thoroughly that they would give him this blessing, even though he would never deserve it?

 

With a weak rasp that was wet with tears, Credence nodded and buried his face into Newt’s ribs once more. The British man’s warm arms wrapped around him, cradling him gently and allowing him to cry without comment. The sea’s rolling laughter reached his ears, but he knew it was a supportive sound rather than mocking.

 

“We should get going, then,” Newt whispered sometime later, patting Credence’s head with a smile and leaving him to lay spread out on the bow of the sailboat. He sat in the indent of the cockpit at the stern of the boat, raising the sails high and grabbing the wooden tiller with a strong grip. “Ready?”

 

Credence trilled happily in expectation, turning his attention to the tip of the bow and the blazing sun in the distance. Newt chuckled in response, guiding the boat so that it sailed with the wind and sliced through the rippling waves. The clouds rolled by and the seagulls sang as the two of them set out into the great unknown, their once empty hearts now filled with hope as they sailed towards the open ocean.

 

~ Fin ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt's sailboat is based on [these](http://www.devlinboat.com/2015/12/winter-wren-ii/) [two](http://www.devlinboat.com/2015/12/lichen/) types. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the journey as much as I did! Please support the lovely J. K. Rowling, as well as [@linddzz](http://linddzz.tumblr.com) and [@zinfandelli](http://zinfandelli.tumblr.com/), who were the original inspiration for this story!


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